In the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, 2008, Eric and I continued to strengthen the bond of our shared sexual adventures. We had our morning and evening train rides together, and of course we had our three favorite public trysting spots: the pond, the mall stairwell, and the river bank.

I knew I could always count on getting fucked deeply, gently yet powerfully, and oh so very lovingly, in our favorite spots, two to three times a week. And I was extremely happy about that.

Even on the commuter train, Eric would thrill me in the most wonderful ways. Being colder weather by California standards (50 degrees Fahrenheit instead of 75), I would wear darker color skirts – navy blues, chocolate browns, and black – rather than my summer yellows and baby blues and pale greens. I would match my miniskirts with tight jackets of the same color, looking business professional for the office but curvy and sexy for Eric.

I had two cats at that time. In an ironic playfulness that matched my playful sexuality, I had named the white cat Pepper and the black cat Salt. Both cats would want to play and be petted every morning, before I left for work. Salt wasn’t really a problem, since his black fur would blend into my dark winter fabrics. But Pepper’s white hairs would be very pronounced against my skirts and blazers.

On the train each morning, Eric would help me brush Pepper’s cat fur off my business suits. Given our many intensely sexual intimacies, just the touch of his hand on my clothing would thrill me, every time.

One day, when Pepper had shed particularly heavily on my jacket, I apologized to Eric that there was so much fur to remove.

“That’s okay,” he punned. “These past few months, since we met, I’ve grown to really like, umm, KAT fur!” He smiled and winked.

I laughed. “And I have grown an intense fascination with, umm, swords. Big, hard-steel swords!”

We kissed passionately, and I suggested we get off the train at the next stop, a college campus.

I led Eric to a huge park across the street from the campus. At the far end of the park, far from the students and teachers rushing off to their classes. I sat under a huge tree, and I beckoned Eric to sit beside me.

We kissed again.

Then, before Eric could quite realize what I was doing, I sat up, rapidly unzipped his trousers, leaned over him, and gobbled his big cock in one powerful, hungry suck.

It took me about five minutes of deep suction before he exploded wonderfully down my throat. “You are the yummiest thing,” I grinned, “that I’ve ever tasted!”

I lay back against the thick tree trunk, and pulled up my tight miniskirt.

Eric skimmed my tiny navy-blue panties off my legs, and as he dove face-first into my bush, he began to improvise his own version of the classic Nat King Cole Christmas song: “Horny girlfriend lying underneath a tree, Kat fur tickling at my nose. Hard little clit, throbbing with intense desire. And both of undressed so everything now shows.”

“Turn around,” I whispered. “I need to suck you more.”

And right under that tree, we 69ed. Until we simultaneously poured oceans of warm, sweet expressions of our mutual love, thickly into each other’s mouth.

We helped each other dress, and we scurried off to our respective jobs. We were breathless, and happy that no student or teacher had decided to take a stroll through the park, before their classes began.

We also continued to strengthen the non-sexual side of our great love-affair. Breakfasts and lunches together. Strolling hand-in-hand through the streets and shops of several local towns. Emails about favorite books, songs, and movies, and about our religious, cultural, and political beliefs. Just generally getting to know each other, to know everything about each other, not only (but maybe especially) sexually.

Eric also gave me help and guidance as I struggled through writing my doctoral thesis. He would advise me on what and where to research. And because he was a well-published professional writer, his edits on my drafts were always very helpful.

Once a week, I couldn’t see Eric on my way home from work, because I had to go right from work to school. Those evenings were always tough on me, not having his arms around me, not kissing him deeply, and not gazing lovingly and longingly into each other’s eyes. But we had our five mornings and four evenings together every week, plus lunchtime hook-ups, phone calls (twice a day, during our morning and afternoon work breaks), and long, love-filled, passionate emails to each other every night.

Being half Native American, I taught him about our traditional tales of Mother Earth and Father Sky, how their union had parented The People, my grandma’s people, and thus also my people.

I told Eric that when he lay flat and his cock pointed straight up and I would impale myself on him, sometimes I would get the mental image of a tall stalk of corn, a staple crop of my people. And how much I loved when he fed that crop of corn to my hungry mouth.

Eric liked that imagery. So besides calling him Cyrano for his big “nose” and his skilled swordsmanship, I also bestowed upon him the “official” Native American name of “Tall Stalk of Corn.”

Cyrano, or Tall Stalk, and I continued to enjoy frequent sex in our shopping-mall parking garage, which was fast becoming our favorite trysting place. Before or after the mall sex, we would sometimes go the mall ATM, take out $20 each, and then window shop for little tokens of our love and lust, to buy as gifts for each other.

One time, he bought me a little pendant with my initial K in a heart. I loved how that pendant and chain looked and felt in my cleavage. And so did Eric!

Another time, he bought me crotchless panties, in my favorite baby blue color. That same day, at the same store, I got him the teeniest tiniest man’s pouch G-string I could find, in a sexy red-purple color that nearly matched his own color when he was hard. The pouch barely covered his balls, and it left his entire 8-inch shaft completely visible, pointed straight up above the waistband, the head rubbing his navel.

The next time we went to our favorite pond, as we lay on our sex-blanket on the grass, I left on those panties, and he left on that G-string, while he pounded my happy little pussy mercilessly, for a whole hour! Mmmm! Seeing and feeling the teeny tiny underthings on each other, as we made hot passionate love outdoors, just made us both even hornier than usual, if such a thing is even possible.

Then there was the Saturday I had to work. I called Eric on his cell phone, and fortunately he was free of obligations to his wife and family that day. I was alone in the office, and I let him in. We snuck off to a back stairwell of the ancient office building where I worked, which I knew had never been modernized with surveillance cameras. There we could kiss and hug. He was free to raise my skirt, and slip a hand down the front of my panties, exploring my inner wetness. I was free to reach down the waistband of his trousers and wrap my hand around his very hard cock, delighting in his every “I Love You” throb against my fingertips.

“Do we dare?” I asked.

He kissed the front of my panties, and he smiled. “We dare.”

He skimmed my panties down my legs, and I stepped out of them. Then he ate me through three lovely orgasms, my happy purring getting louder with each release onto his face.

Now it was time for me to unzip him, and to watch his whole beautiful eight inches pop free from his jeans. I knelt before him, and I happily, playfully kissed and licked all over. His throbbing, and the feel and taste of his wonderful shaft, made me very hungry, and soon I was hollowing my cheeks and sucking him mightily. He exploded onto my tongue, and I sucked even harder, until he splattered against the back of my throat, too.

When he stopped coming, I backed off, and I lovingly licked the lovely and delicious mess off of his cock. Then I sucked again, until I had emptied every last tasty drop from his balls. Mmm, so good! Sssssoooo good!

I laid back on the narrow stairway landing, and I lifted my skirt.

“Here?” he asked, incredulously. “There’s so little room on this stairwell landing!”

I looked at him lovingly, longingly, and I nodded my head Yes.

He slipped into me, and I nodded Yes again.

He pushed and throbbed his way into me, and I whispered softly, breathlessly, “Uh-huh! Yes.”

I clamped my pussy down very tightly around him, and my hands kneaded his muscular butt.

I nodded my head Yes again, and I softly repeated “Uh-huh.”

He began thrusting, slowly at first.

“Faster,” I purred happily, nodding yes again.

Then I cooed “harder.” And “deeper.” With more Yes head nods.

I scooted forward toward him, so his cock would hit my G-spot. Another “Yes” head nod.

“Deeper. Harder. Purrrrr!”

He began banging me with fast, deep slams. “Yes,” I purred.

His throbbing became more frequent, and my Yes got louder.

His thrusting felt like about 100 miles an hour now, and I was yelling Yes, and nodding my head vigorously, enthusiastically, encouragingly.

I clamped down tightly around him again, and I spasmed into intense orgasm.

He pulled back, and then he slammed down into me, fast and deep and hard. When he was in balls-deep, his cock throbbed very powerfully, and all his come rushed out of his balls, up his enormous shaft, racing out the beautiful bulbous head, and deep, deep, DEEP into me. Mmmm! Ssssooooo good!!!

I smoothed down my skirt, lovingly tucked his cock back into his jeans, and zipped him back up.

“I have to file a few papers still,” I told him. “That should take about ten minutes. Then there’s this new restaurant I found two blocks from here. We can walk there and have lunch together, okay?”

We each ordered a half sandwich and half soup, and as we ate, I rubbed my foot up and down his legs, and I wriggled my toes into his crotch. I kept whispering “I love you.” His hand slipped under the table, onto my knee, and then massaged the front of my panties. Causing me to purr very contentedly.

Eric smiled. “I love you, Kat.”

After our lunch, we strolled through an antiques store, browsing. We found a beautiful bound copy of the play Cyrano de Bergerac, so I bought it and gave it Eric. I told him to read it first, then give it to me to read when he’s done.

We got in Eric’s car, and we drove off into the country in search of a place to make another favorite fantasy I had about Eric and me come true: to make love in a farmer’s barn. With the cows watching me get fucked sssooo hard, every cow getting so jealous of me, because they had no bulls who were anywhere near as well endowed, nor could fuck them even half so good as Eric does.

We never did find such a barn. Looking back on it now, how could we have? “Excuse me, Mister Farmer. Can we borrow your barn? So my hot hunky boyfriend here, can fuck the living hell out of my cock-hungry pussy for about two hours? While your cows watch us?” Yeah, like THAT request is likely to bring us any success!

So we just pulled off the side of a deserted country farm road. And in the back seat of Eric’s blue Ford, he very thoroughly plowed my field, and he planted lots of seed. I think I even mooed a little, like a cow must sound when a very well-hung bull gives her one REAL good!

In that back seat, Eric flipped me over, and now he gave me our special version of doggie style, completely horizontal (not on all fours). As always, that felt amazing, and he made me feel so happy, so loved, and so in love.

It was so sad for us both, to have to go home now. But we had to be home before our spouses were. And anyway, my pussy was getting way too sore now, for any more of this. And Eric felt that he would need at least another hour for his balls to produce more of his hot, thick liquid, to pump so powerfully and so deeply into me.

Over the next few days, Eric read Cyrano to me on the train. I, of course, loved the descriptions of how skilled Cyrano was with his “sword.” Cyrano would leave those who felt the thrust of his sword devastated, much as the deeply piercing thrusts of Eric’s own “sword” always left me in a lovely state of total but joyous devastation.

I also loved the description of how Cyrano’s “nose” was so big that it entered a room fifteen minutes before he did – that sounded like my Eric and his “nose.”

But I squealed in delight when Eric read to me about Roxanne being “a strawberry set within a peach.” He smiled and told me he loved licking on my sweet peach, and nibbling into the tasty strawberry that was set within my peach.

I snuggled under Eric’s arm, and I purred happily, all through those days, as we rode the train to our jobs, and he read these (and other) delicious double entendre passages to me. He was my Cyrano, my brave knight, my skilled swordsman with the long “nose,” feasting on my peach and nibbling on my strawberry, set within my peach.

Our next opportunity for more than just a few stolen moments of passion, for more than a quickie, was when we got to have another all-day tryst on Dec. 26, 2008, at what was fast becoming our favorite motel, our third stay in that secluded establishment.

We, of course, had to spend Christmas Day with our families.

Eric and I had agreed to meet at our motel this day after Christmas, rather than meet elsewhere and drive there together. I didn’t know why yet, but Eric had requested that we do it that way this time, meet up in the motel room itself.

I already had the room booked (Eric and I always each paid half the room fee), and Eric checked in before I did.

When I got to the room, Eric had set up a tiny artificial Christmas tree in a corner of the room. He had spread wrapping paper around it, to make the tree’s base area bigger. He was lying naked on the wrapping paper, a huge red bow tied around his equally red hard cock.

“Come and unwrap my Christmas present to you,” he grinned.

I knelt down, pulled the ribbon untied, and kissed and kissed and kissed his beautiful hard cock, all over.

I licked him, I sucked him, and I guzzled down a big yummy helping of my favorite warm beverage, which my beloved served-up to me straight from the tap.

I stood up, and I removed my skimpy dress. I had no bra on, and only the tiniest black lace G-string.

I reached into my purse, not letting Eric see what I had pulled from there.

I laid down on the floor, flat on my back.

Then I held the sprig of mistletoe from my purse, right above my panties.

Eric didn’t have to be asked twice. He kissed and kissed and kissed the front of my panties. He flipped me over. I was holding the mistletoe over the tiny string backing of my panties, and he repeatedly kissed my completely naked ass cheeks, with the tiny string tucked deep into the crack between my cheeks.

He rolled me back onto my back, kissed my bush, and tugged my panties to one side. I was still holding the mistletoe over my pussy, and he kissed a slow circle all the way around the circumference of my pussy lips.

He kissed my clit next, and then he lovingly bathed my wildly pulsating clit with his tongue. His tongue slid in, lapping hungrily at my damp inner walls. And then his tongue gently, playfully massaged my G-spot.

I wouldn’t have a G-spot orgasm just yet. But his kisses, licks, and nibbles on my clit sent me into a wonderful clitoral orgasm. Within the next five minutes, his magical fingers and highly skilled tongue would coax three more orgasms out of my intensely pulsating clit, each orgasm more wonderful than the last.

I tossed the mistletoe onto the bed, and then I carefully lay down on top of the sprig.

“What kind of kiss is that supposed to signal?” Eric laughed.

“It means,” I grinned and winked, “that your cock has to deeply kiss the interior of my pussy now.”

In one long, continuous, non-stop fuck fest, Eric banged me missionary style, over and over and over again, thrust, thrust, thrust … until I came twice, and he came once. Then he flipped me over, and he gave me a deep doggy style, with me on all fours. We each came twice. Then I rode him, and his throbs pushed hard into my G-spot, on each in and out stroke.

I at last had the powerful and endless G-spot orgasm, on his cock, which I hadn’t had on his face.

Somewhere during that endless flow of girl-come out of my G-spot and onto his cock, he fired about 10 gallons of very thick, very sticky come up into me.

I shut my eyes tight, and my clit came very hard. My mind flooded with an image that I was on a stage somewhere, some sort of academy awards type of ceremony. A very hot and very naked hunk was handing me a very large phallus-shaped trophy. Engraved into the trophy base, in huge letters, was “World’s Luckiest Slut.” Uh-huh, oh yeah: that’s me!

Eric held the sprig of mistletoe over his very hard cock. That was hardly necessary, as I loved kissing his gigantic cock every chance I got. My hungry and appreciative cock-kisses made him throb very powerfully. I barely got him crammed into my mouth and sucked down my throat, before he exploded.

There would be several more rounds of sex that day, with two showers between rounds.

The first shower ended with my ass getting a wonderful, deep and hard fuck, as the soapy water streamed down both of our naked bodies.

The second shower made sure no visible signs, and no sex-scents, remained behind, for our spouses to suspect anything.

Then dressing each other, and returning to our respective homes.

I knew that Eric would spend New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day with his family. Neither my husband nor I wanted to spend that time together, so Frank went to his brother’s place to get thoroughly soused. So I paid a visit to my son and his wife. We celebrated the night of Dec. 31, and we all watched the Rose Bowl Parade on TV the next morning.

I was back home from visiting my son, in time to spend all day on Jan. 2 in Eric’s loving arms. Our fourth check-in to our special motel.

Although the sex was mostly the same things we had done before, that was okay by both of us. We now knew what each other liked, and we happily gave those special, magical moments to each other now.

We did try one new thing. He piled three pillows on the coffee table and had me lie on top of it. As he knelt beside the table, his cock entered me at just about a straight horizontal, not a forty five degree angle like missionary. He was able to penetrate even deeper than he ever had before, and feeling his cock touching depths no cock had ever touched before, I trembled uncontrollably as I flowed and flowed and flowed all over him. I was crying tears of the purest joy now, as he drew back and thrust deep, emptying his balls into places deeper inside of me than even I knew existed.

“I love you sssoooo much!” I cried happily. “Not just because of the WONDERFUL sex! Although that’s certainly a part of it. But because you’re such a sweet, gentle, kind, generous, loving man. I made so many mistakes before, in my choice of three husbands, before I found you.”

“That sounds like a proposal!” Eric grinned.

“SIGH! I wish we could. I’m married.”

“And so am I. But a gal can dream, can’t she, my sweet Cyrano?”

“We share that dream,” he kissed me hotly, his still-hard cock throbbing mightily against my belly.

“NOW who’s proposing?” I laughed.

We had a wonderful 69, and then a sexy standing-doggy shower, before we both had to dress and return to our respective homes.

As we parted, I promised that someday I would have an apartment, separate of the house I shared with my husband, where Eric and I would have our own little love nest. Alas, that was never to be.

Valentine’s Day no longer meant anything to me and my estranged husband. Nor to Eric and his wife. Though not as bad as Frank and me, Eric and Mary had their own marital difficulties. Whenever Eric would tell me the mean things Mary would say and do to him, I would kiss Eric, soothe his grief, tell him he deserved better, and that I love him deeply and completely.

All of which was, and still is, true. Which made it very hard for me when, a few months later, life forced me to have to wreck our relationship. I mean, total demolition. We’re talking bulldozers and wrecker cranes here. Until all that was left among the rubble were the sweet, happy memories I still cherish, and I’m sure Eric still cherishes too, though I haven’t talked to him in seven years to ask how he’s doing.

But all that lay in the future, and Eric and I spent a wonderful Valentine’s Day (Feb. 14, 2009) together.

First we drove to a small California town that has changed little since before the American Civil War. Walking the town, hand in hand, with frequent stops to kiss, we explored the little knick-knack shops, antiques stores, historic hotels, museums, art galleries, etc.

As a recovering alcoholic, I can’t have champagne, and Eric never acquired a taste for alcohol. So at one little shop, we bought a bottle of sparkling cider to share for our romantic Valentine’s Day.

Then off to this cute little bed and breakfast I found for us, where there was a hot tub sunk into the bedroom floor, just big enough for two.

We stripped each other, climbed in, and relaxed in the warm, swirling, churning water. With frequent kisses. And lots of below-the-water caresses, touching very lovingly in so many wonderful and fun places on each other.

I giggled that the hot tub bubbles tickled my skin. But really his two exploring fingers in my pussy tickled me much more.

Eric told me that my soft, playful giggles were turning his cock very hard.

“Ooh, can I see?” I grinned.

He scooted up, sitting in the edge of the sunken tub.

“So BIG!” I purred happily, stroking it.

“So HARD!” Standing in the tub, I kissed up and down, and back up, his throbbing red-purple cock.

“And mmm so beautiful!”

“Beautiful?” Eric chortled.

“Yes,” I kissed his cock again. “Yes!” I licked. “Yes, yes…..beautiful!”

“I’m wet,” I whispered. “Ssssooo wet! And I don’t mean from the water.”

Eric stood up, from his perch at the side of the sunken tub, clasped me under my arms, and hoisted me up out of the water.

He kissed me right on my pussy, and he smiled. “Mnmn, you’re right. Very wet!”

He led me by the hand to the little bed, barely big enough for two….if you pressed your bodies very tightly up against each other. Which, of course, neither of us had any objection to doing!

We both sat up, naked on the bed, pillows propped behind us, as he poured two glasses of sparkling cider. He handed one glass to me, and he offered his glass to my lips. So I of course held my glass to his mouth. Corny romantic, I know. But when you are that much in love and that deeply in lust, such gestures are wonderfully romantic.

He told me to lie down, and I did. He made a move like he was going to lie on top of me, to kiss me, maybe even to sink that beautiful, big red cock deep into me.

Then he asked me, “So, the hot-tub bubbles really tickled you?”

“Yes, why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Eric smiled mysteriously.

Then he suddenly, unexpectedly dribbled a few drops of sparkling cider, from his glass, right into my belly button.

It tickled, and I giggled.

“Did anyone ever tell you,” he moaned. “That you have the sexiest giggle? The sexiest, most cock-hardening giggle I’ve ever heard!”

With that, he kissed and licked the cider from my navel. My giggles turned to happy moans of pure pleasure.

Then he moved his kisses down into my bush, and he broke into that same sweet, funny, sexy lyric from our last tryst: “…Kat fur tickling my nose...” My moans turned into happy, kittenish purring.

And then his tongue slid into my very damp pussy. Flitting and flicking and licking and flittering and fluttering, deep inside of me.

I can’t recall if I was still moaning and purring. If I was, the sounds from my mouth were being totally drowned-out by the very loud “SQUISH!” of my intense desires, rumbling up from so very deep within my cock-hungry pussy now.

My fist encircled his cock, pumping him up and down, and I just kept purring “Beautiful cock! Sssssoooo beautiful.”

I pouted when his wonderfully pleasuring tongue left my pussy.

But then his hand clasped my wrist, as I was still pumping up and down his powerfully throbbing shaft. Together, our hands guided all eight inches of him, DEEP into my hungry pussy.

I stopped pouting now, and I resumed purring like the happy little sex kitten that I am.

My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and my feet pushed down hard on his cute, muscular ass, driving him balls-deep down into me now. I kissed his mouth about 1000 times as he fucked me so good, in and out, in and out, in and out. His tongue deep in my mouth, his cock deep in my “other” set of lips. Life at its very finest.

The feelings, though so very familiar to me by now, were no less wonderful than the first time I felt this way. That I’m a very lucky woman. That this man loves me very much. That I love him deeply and completely. That I have never, EVER been fucked anywhere near this good as Eric fucks me! That my body and soul are his, always his, all that I am, all that I have ever been, all that I will ever be, freely and happily and unreservedly offered-up to this wonderful man. That I want to do this with him every day for the rest of my life, and beyond that, for several lifetimes.

The pace gradually built, layer upon layer, so gradually that I barely noticed. Until he was fucking me SO hard. So very, very, VERY hard. Driving me CRAZY with lust, in the most wonderful way that a man can give himself, body, mind, heart, and soul, to a woman.

I pushed my feet even harder into his muscular butt, as my own ass rose high off the bed now. Desperately, hungrily impaling myself on all the wonder of him that he was so generously giving to me now.

Trembling, moaning, purring, l came so hard. I could feel my thick juices smearing the entire length of his magnificent cock, which was now so completely and so deeply inside of me.

And then with a wonderfully deep, sexy baritone moan, and a powerful throb, his come rushed out of his balls, rushed up his shaft, and burst so powerfully out of the big, bulbous head, firing stream after stream after stream of fresh, warm, wonderful man-milk, deep, deep, DEEP into me! Mmmm!

Why is it, I wondered, every time with Eric, every time, I feel so happy, so content, stuffed so full of his cock, so full of his come. Why do I love this wonderful man so much? Why do I desire him so hungrily, so constantly craving him? What have I done in my life, to deserve being treated so good by this amazing man, both in and out of bed, to deserve to be fucked this hard, and this good, by this wonderful man, this sex god? Why does he always make me feel so happy? Why am I always at my happiest, whenever his huge cock is so very deep inside of me like this?

And then the inevitable question: Why didn’t the universe let me meet Eric first? Before I went through not just one, but three horribly disastrous marriages? Why didn’t Eric meet me before he got trapped in his own hostile, loveless marriage?

Oh well, it didn’t matter. For here he was, this love of my life, on top of me in this tiny bed in this very romantic room on Valentine’s Day, his huge cock throbbing powerfully, deep within my tightly contracting, exquisitely happy pussy.

Had I been a less lucky woman than I was at that moment, I could have lived a whole lifetime without moments like this. And even if we had to sneak our love in stolen moments like this, it was far better than never having experienced Eric at all.

But the very fact that all we had, all we would ever have, was these stolen moments, would (sooner than I could ever have expected or predicted), lead to me having to deliberately wreck all of the lust, all of the trust and respect, that we had. But not the love. Oh no, the love could never be wrecked, and in fact was never wrecked. And maybe in one of those future lifetimes that Eric and I used to both talk about so often, we will finally get the timing right, to have it all.

My breaking up with Eric, deliberately sabotaging our relationship, was very hard for us both. Neither of us wanted to fully let go. We broke it off gradually, but I knew it had to be done, and finally I had to ruthlessly end it, completely and finally and I fear irrevocably, for both our sakes. But I hated hurting my beloved Eric like that. And losing him still hurts me deeply, even seven years later.

As the fourteenth and final chapter of this tale about the deepest, truest love, and the most wonderful sex, I have ever known in my life, I’ll try to find the courage to write-up what happened, when it happened, and why it all just had to end. It will be painful for me to have to write it, which is why I’ve put this off for so long.

But I know that telling this sad ending is something that I have to do. Because maybe, just maybe, by sharing my pain with all of my many wonderful online friends here at Lush, I might finally lessen the sad and painful burden of that sense of loss that I’ve carried with me since 2009.