It was the summer of 2001 and we had both graduated high school that spring. Jami was gorgeous. She had smooth, tanned skin with sexy tan lines that clearly defined the boundaries of her chastity and modesty. She had a small chest, which she was self-conscious of, but I assured her that she had wonderful, perky tits. I think all young women have something about themselves they don't like but are pleasantly surprised when a partner adores them because of it. I had explored every inch of her with my eyes, hands, tongue, and cock in the eighteen months we dated and never found a single flaw. She smiled and pushed her bangs over her eyes when I told her that, but I could still see her mascara run.

I arrived a little before lunch. Her dad, Tom, was grilling and her mom was in the house making the side dishes. It was promised to be a feast! Their only daughter had graduated and been accepted to Vassar, her dream school.

I made my way over to the pool where Jami lounged with her elbows on the ledge. I looked at her short-cropped blonde hair and sinewy shoulders glistening in the July sun. The water line lapped at her shoulder blades and she quietly hummed along to a Matchbox Twenty song playing on the radio. I glided into the pool and came up behind her.

“Mmmm.” She hummed. “I'm glad you are here.”

“Me too,” I replied. “Working on anything exciting?”

She rolled her head over her shoulder and kissed me. “I went down to the river this morning and took some pictures. I'll show them to you later if you want, but let's just stay here a while longer and drink it in,” Jami said.

Jami smelled like Patchouli and as she wrapped my arms around her body, she brushed my hand across her groin. I noticed she wasn't wearing a swimsuit bottom. She had the cutest patch of light brown hair and I had asked her never to shave it. I ran my fingers through it and gently twisted my fingers in it.

She kissed me again and again, craning her head to reach my lips. I ran my fingers along her tightening thighs, through her slick lips, and rubbed her clit with each pass. I was already hard. Just resting my chin on her shoulder and smelling her hair had gotten me to full attention. Ah, to be a couple of nineteen-year-old lovers again! We could be ready to fuck faster than the Minute Men this holiday commemorates.

“Please fuck me. I've been horny for you all morning,” she said.

I pulled down my swim trunks and my dick poked her ass once it slipped over the elastic waistband. “I love how you always hold out for me,” I said as I pushed myself inside of her. Sex in a pool can be awkward. It's hard to get the fast-paced, feverish rhythm because of the water's resistance. It's better to go for long, deep thrusts. I could feel how wet she was as I pushed all the way inside and withdrew almost far enough that I slid out.

My head stretched her again as I glided back in. The veins and swelling of my cock in her pussy caused some quivering contractions. I kissed the side of her neck and licked her ear as I worked in long strokes, changing the angle often to hit each area. It wasn't long before the pressure of her contractions caused me to lose control and I felt a tingle in my groin that sent shivers through my groin and legs. I felt the familiar twitching and pumping of an orgasm as I looked down to see faint globs of white swirling in the water.

“Shit, I came in the pool,” I whispered.

“It's okay, the filter will clean it out,” she said, smiling. We snickered together.

Jami's dad looked up from the grill and waved. “Good to see you, Jeff, I'm glad you could come!” he called.

“Me too!” I replied. I whispered in Jami's ear as if finishing the sentence. “Sorry about the pool filter.”

She playfully elbowed me. “Behave or I'll have to take you out behind the shed and give you a spanking,” she retorted.

Later that evening we lay on our backs, hand in hand, watching the fireworks and listening to the cricket's serenade. After the explosions faded, we fell asleep watching the fireflies go bravely out to meet the moon.

Our paths were diverging; I was going to Bucknell in the fall and she would be up in New York. She broke up with me shortly before Labor Day but I wasn't hurt, or bitter. We both knew life was taking us in separate directions; she was just the one with the courage to say it.

I think about her sometimes when the fireworks explode against the black palette of stars and as the crickets sing in between crescendos. I wonder if she watches the fireflies' pilgrimage and thinks of me in the summer fade.