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his lips and tongue sent a new spasm of ecstasy rushing through me. Desperate not to let the moment pass, I asked... begged... Lawrence to bite me there. Harder... please harder. Pleeeeeease.

He bit.

It hurt like hell, and I knew it would continue hurting for days to come; but that was the point. For as long as I could feel the stinging, I'd be able to remember that MY quim had been in HIS mouth, for a few voluptuous moments before he kissed his way back up my belly, then slid his cock inside me.

The memory flashed away, to be replaced by another one. Months passed; and we were fucking regularly, but his teeth remained a hard, sharp focal point of our love-making, long after I lost the need to feel them. In fact, it was getting to the point where I was actually dreading him licking me, because there was very little licking even taking place. Boys get blow-jobs; I was getting bite-jobs, and my pussy was sore and bruised from his attentions.

I suppose I could have asked him to change his tactics, but, like I said, I was young, and worried that if I asked him to stop, he might get angry, and never touch me again. One night, however, was different; one night, he treated me to a true eating-out: Warm, wet and rhythmic, with all the smooth, loving gentleness, and sense-shattering expertise that that entails. And, when I came - for the first time in his face - he clenched my ass and held me tight to his face, so that my frenzied gyrations smeared juice all over him. And, when it was over, and I lay back in absolute bliss, he raised herself and looked me in the eyes. Then he whispered, "you're delicious." All I could reply, as I lay in total shock, was "so are you."

The following week, he dumped me.

A quarter of a century later, that last night together remained my most powerful memory of Lawrence, a warm tongue that probed deep and relished every flavor I could give him, then drew me softly to a stupendous orgasm. It came to mind when I masturbated sometimes, one of those special moments that we all hold so dear, long after we've lost touch with every other moment we spent with a person... the one night stand who wanted to lick his own cum from my pussy; the way another loved me to milk him with my tits; the night I spent sucking a truck driver's dick... magical moments that you share with one lover, which can never truly happen again, no matter how many more times you do them. As I drove slowly into the tree-lined driveway of Lawrence's townhouse, I wondered what he'd think if he knew of his exalted place in my sexual hall of fame. He'd probably be thrilled.

My finger was still on the bell when the door swung open and, for a moment I just stared. You know how it's considered polite to tell someone that they haven't changed a bit, no matter what the toll of the passing years? In Lawrence's case, it was true. His hairstyle was different, of course, but the laughing eyes, the dancing smile, the nose that sloped to a gentle button, the dimple... "Lawrence?" I said.

"You wish!" came a voice from behind him. The boy who answered the door ducked and smiled; Lawrence appeared in the doorway. "I thought that would freak you," he laughed, and I saw him quickly look me up and down. "You, on the other hand...."

I brushed aside the rest of his platitude and stepped into the house. A few pieces of furniture looked familiar; a couple of photos of elderly relatives. And Lawrence, of course, looked as gorgeous as ever, even if the years had grayed his hair some, and etched a few wrinkles. I was surprised to find myself feeling pleased that the vision who opened the door wasn't him. Youth is a beautiful thing, but it can be damned intimidating, too, and the sight of that boy's unlined face, fresh smile and smooth skin made me feel even older than I am.

We sat in the front room, Lawrence balanced on the arm of the sofa, while I sat beside him and his son, Brian, sprawled on the floor, looking up at the pair of us with a huge smile. "You know, I can see the pair of you together. I always know when two people have that attachment, and you two really do."

Lawrence laughed embarrassedly. "It was a long time ago, a very long time ago. I'm sure Chrissie barely even remembers."

"Hey, you were my first great love," I protested. "I remember everything."

"Everything?" asked Lawrence, his laugh still on his lips; "everything?" echoed Brian with a sense of wonder adding emphasis to his words, and I saw Lawrence flash him the kind of look that can only pass between two men who've shared some kind of secret. "Actually, I doubt that very much," Lawrence concluded. "I'm the one who remembers everything. You just hang onto the weird stuff."

Well, he got that bit right, I thought, then asked with a chuckle, "So what have you been telling people? Which one of our sordid little secrets is now pinned with a magnet to your fridge door?"

Lawrence spoke first. "Remember that night we were walking home from some club and you couldn't wait for a pee, so you ducked into the graveyard?" Then it was Brian's turn. "Or the time... do you mind, dad?... when you got your ear pierced and it swelled up to the size of a strawberry?" "A raspberry," corrected his father. "It looked just like a raspberry."

I racked up my mind for ammunition. "Okay Brian, did he tell you about the night we went out for shellfish, only for him to remember, too late, that he was allergic to it? He was throwing up all night."

"Like you at that party, after you got into that absurd drinking competition with those punk rockers," Lawrence countered. "But let's eat. Otherwise Brian will start thinking our entire relationship revolved around vomit, and I'm sure there was more to it than that." He smiled and squeezed my arm. "Come on, I've made your favorite." It was, as well - although how he remembered that after 25 years, I dared not even ask. I couldn't even recall what brand of cigarette he used to smoke.

We small-talked through the meal; then settled back on the settee, only this time - and I'd swear it was at Brian's silent prompting - Lawrence sat firmly down next to me, so close that I could smell his aftershave and, beneath that, the personal scent that, again, I'd forgotten, but which gave me instant crazy flashbacks to long ago, innocent days.

"So tell me again how you met," Brian asked, and laughingly, Lawrence and I turned back the years, to reminisce about an office that we'd not seen in 25 years, the awful people with whom we'd been working, and how we were thrown together as much from a need to put up a united front - the two youngest people in the office - as out of any kind of spoken attraction. But it was there all the same and, one evening as we were preparing to leave, he asked me out for a drink. "And we were together for the next 13 months," said Lawrence proudly, "right up until I met your mother."

I had my drink to my lips as he said that; I truly hoped no-one saw me splutter and, as I stifled a cough, spit my mouthful of wine back into the glass. "You married that girl?" I could not help but ask. Lawrence nodded. "I'm afraid so. And fifteen years later, I finally realized why you disliked her so much."

Brian hissed a half-dismayed "dad...", but Lawrence hushed him. "It's true. Chrissie couldn't stand your mother, called her a - well, let's just say she didn't have a very high opinion of her. And, I'm afraid to say, she may have been right. But, as they say, I got two lovely children out of her, so it wasn't a complete waste of time." I was dying to ask what happened - the girl had been a tramp, quite frankly, one of those bottle-blonde trollops with huge tits, the legs of a giraffe and a pussy that could have doubled as the Harlem Tunnel, she'd had so many guys drive through her. I'm astonished she ever married, settled down, had kids... although the fact that she wasn't here any longer suggested that maybe she hadn't. But now was not the time to pry.

Lawrence reached for the bottle and refilled my glass. "Brian probably thinks I'm talking too much... I'll get a right telling-off in the morning. And, in fairness to Tina, she wasn't all bad. But I do know, and I've told Brian this, there were things that you and I did during our time together, Chrissie, that I could never have repeated with Tina, no matter how hard I tried."

"Like what?" I asked, and I saw Brian's eyes flash a vivid warning to his now plainly-intoxicated father. Lawrence caught the look as well. "Let's just say, there were things. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must run to the bathroom."

He rose unsteadily to her feet, and left Brian and I in silence. Finally the boy spoke. "I'm sorry about that. He's been so nervous about you coming over tonight, I think he may have drunk a little more than he ought to."

"Nervous?" I asked.

"Well, you've not seen each other for so long; who knew if you'd even like each other anymore? Plus, I think he always remained just a little in love with you."

I was surprised to hear those words, but not especially shocked at what they imparted. Just as Lawrence was my first great love, I was his, and that's one relationship you never really get over. "That little exchange between the two of you, just then. The looks. Is that what that was all about?"

Brian flushed. "I told you, he's been nervous; getting back in touch with you stirred up a lot of memories for him, from before he met my mom - and maybe, some regrets as well."

"Regrets?"

"Oh, I don't mean he wished he'd married you instead. But I think he'd have liked to remained unmarried a little longer and, if you'd stayed on the scene - who knows?"

"He ditched me," I protested. "I didn't want to end it at all - especially not at that time!" I smiled to myself. That "you're delicious" remark really had made a serious impression on me!

"I know," Brian answered. "Like I said, he sometimes wonders whether he maybe made some bad decisions." He paused. "Hold on, he's coming back. So..." deftly changing the subject... "I completed my Masters, and now I'm just waiting for a vacancy to come up at the museum, and I should be back in Egypt by Christmas."

"My son the archaeologist," trilled Lawrence as he walked back into the room. "One mummy wasn't good enough for him, so he has to go and dig up some more." Ouch - he was drunk. He picked up the bottle and tilted it towards me. "More?"

"I'd better not, I have to drive home tonight."

"It's a bit late to be thinking about that," Brian admonished me light-heartedly. "We've already got through four bottles, and there's still two more to come. Dad, shall I run and make up the spare room?"

Lawrence looked at me questioningly. "Should he?"

I hesitated for a moment; I could call a cab, then get another one back in the morning, to pick up the car, but it would be a lot easier if... "well, if it's not too much trouble."

"Not as much trouble as trying to explain to Highway Patrol why you're smashed out of your skull." And then, to Brian, "yes, do that. And bring back another bottle when you're done." Brian left, and Lawrence took my hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't say too much, did I?"

"Not at all. In fact, I was rather hoping you'd say more."

I swear he blushed a little. "It's like I said, you do some things in one life, and no matter how hard you try in another, you just can't."

"Like?" Half of me was certain that it knew precisely where this conversation was headed; the other half was braced for disappointment, in case he dredged another memory up altogether. Instead, he took the third option. "No, you'll think it's silly. It was nothing."

"You obviously don't think so."

"No. Well, I wouldn't."

"I'll ask Brian, then."

Lawrence punched me playfully. "There are some things that even a son doesn't know. Thank God." He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips; paused, and then kissed me harder. My mouth opened a little, and I felt his tongue flick in and around, then break away. "I'll tell you one thing, though; you still taste delicious."

My heart leaped and, even before it had landed, I felt my puss flooding inside my panties. And I mean flooding. "So do you," I breathed. "And if you think that was nothing... or silly... believe me, I remember it like it was yesterday."

His eyebrows arched curiously. "Now you've got me wondering. What do you remember?"

Oh shit. As fast as my heart had started trip-hammering, it stopped, and I was still trying to formulate an answer that wasn't a stammered blur when Brian walked back in. "I hope I'm not interrupting," he teased. "No, but you might be able to help me wring an answer out of Chrissie here. Now, what is this thing that you remember like yesterday?" Standing behind me, Brian started up a whispered chant... "tell, tell, tell...."

"Well, if you're going to gang up on me, I'll just have to go to bed," I pouted, but Lawrence's grip on my hand was a strong one. "Oh, if you think that'll get you out of it, you've got another think coming," he said. And then; "I may be old, but I still have my own teeth."

Brian whooped delightedly. "Father!" he roared with mock shock. "I thought you were joking about that!"

What? I couldn't believe my ears. "Lawrence? Now I really want to know what you've been telling him."

"Why? I thought it was rather fun." He lunged towards my face, snapping his teeth at me. "Nothing wrong with a bit of biting. So long as you know where to bite." Behind him, Brian was convulsed with giggles. "Father, I'm ashamed of you. And Chrissie... I'd never have guessed!"

"I was young and in love," I protested.

"Apparently so," Brian smiled. "But I think I should leave you alone now; I'm sure I'd only be in the way." He hung in the doorway for a moment. "I'm going to run next door to see Kerry. Don't wait up...."

"Don't worry, we won't," called Lawrence; then, as the door slammed closed, he kissed me again. "So now you know what I was talking about... oh, and don't worry about Brian, he thinks I was talking about all the hickies I used to give you. I told him how you went out and bought all those turtle necks, to cover them up at work, and then got into trouble for not wearing a blouse. But I couldn't help myself..." again that phrase. "You were so delicious. Now you have to tell me what you meant."

I stroked his hair. "To be honest, I think it was the exact same thing." And that, apparently, was all the encouragement he needed, as he slipped off the couch and onto his knees, parting my legs with his hands and then reaching for my thighs. He was tugging at my panties beneath my dress; I raised myself slightly and felt them fall free, hitched up my legs as he pulled them down to my ankles, then hoisted his hands beneath my ass to draw me to his face.

I was dripping wet - I caught a whiff of my own odor as I shifted, and then his face plunged into my folds, his tongue delving deep, his cheeks delightfully rough on my most tender flesh.

"I am so glad," he purred, then stopped and looked at me. "It's been so long. You know," he said thoughtfully, "not that there's been a lot of them, but you're the only girl who's ever let me do this."

For a moment, I wondered who on earth he'd been sleeping with all these years. What sort of girl doesn't let a guy go down on her? And then - OUCH! Then I realized precisely what he meant. I was the only girl who let him bite her clit... hard, harder and harder still, until the pain was almost unbearable and it felt as though his teeth were going to slice right through it.

I grit my own teeth, determined not to spoil a moment that he'd evidently been waiting for, maybe even dreaming about, since the day he first walked out on me... and prayed that his jaw would tire before he did me some serious damage.

But I let out a groan, and that was clearly a mistake, as he mistook my agony for enjoyment and his teeth dug in even deeper. And then, as suddenly as it began, the pain went away, and he was sucking, his lips drawing my flesh deep into his mouth, his tongue slipping up and down my labia lips and darting around my clit. Occasionally, he'd pause and his teeth dug in once again, but now I could deal with it, knowing that the seconds of excruciating pain would soon be rewarded with minutes of exquisite pleasure.

He was sucking as I started to come; he was biting as I did so, and I wondered how he was able to do that, crushing my clit with his teeth as his mouth filled with my juices. But he did it and, when he finally released me, the tingling of my orgasm combined with the savage pain of all that had precipitated it, to crash against my body in a wave of sensations I had never felt before.

He kissed me, and I tatsed myself smeared across his lips and tongue. "See, I told you I remembered everything," he smiled. "Even how hard you cum when I bite you like that." I kissed him back, and smiled to myself... maybe he was right when he said that I only remembered the weird stuff. But at least I remembered it correctly.

I wasn't about to correct him, however, and I still haven't. I'd not cum that hard in so long I don't recall, but I've been back with Lawrence for three weeks now, and now it happens almost every time we meet. Even better, he told me something else last weekend, about how biting doesn't need to be a one-sided thing. And the first time I sank my teeth into his hard, throbbing cock, after licking and swirling my tongue round his glans, I almost choked on the hot, thick, and flavorsome he squirted down my throat.

But that, I'm afraid, is another story...

[... So please e-mail me if you'd like to hear it - and let me know what you thought about this one at the same time. Thanks!]

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