Chapter 5
By the time Sam and Rhonda arrived back at the country club the majority of their former classmates were already back from the tour of the high school and dinner, something which neither Sam or Rhonda had found time for during the few hours they had spent getting re-acquainted. However, both managed to find their way to several trays of small finger sandwiches, the taste of which rapidly killed any appetite they had.
A small portable bar, complete with a bartender, was pushed into one corner of the room, out of the way of several couples who were dancing to the music supplied by a pianist-singer, who lacked talent for either of his skills. Weaving through the crowd, Sam successfully retrieved two vodka and tonics and brought them back without spilling a drop. To his surprise, Frank Watson, sipping cautiously from a drink he looked totally out of place with, stood chatting with Rhonda.
The small woman's interest in Frank had always been apparent to him, although he had never understood it. However, he was suddenly aware that Frank also shared that interest. He was even doing his best to make a pass at Rhonda, which was awkward in its first moments and highly reminiscent of a junior high boy-girl love sickness at its low ebb.
For a moment or two, he mentally toyed with the idea of taking Frank aside and whispering his magic phrase into his ear and then describing what had happened with Rhonda that evening. On second thought, he shucked the idea and stood around for a couple of polite minutes, then drifted off toward the bar once again, leaving the couple to their own wiles.
It was a mistake that he regretted the moment his eyes fell on the black haired woman who returned his surprised gaze from over the top of a cocktail glass. Immediately the familiar bitter-sweet hollowness churned in the depths of his stomach. He thought ten years would have lessened the effects of the woman who now beckoned him with a friendly smile. But there seemed to be no way of muting the effects this woman had on him. Rhonda had said it a few hours earlierƒ_"his only love. He would have turned and walked away, if there had been any way out of it. But there wasn't. He simply returned the smile and continued walking to the bar.
"Joanna," he said, taking her extended hand and squeezing it with no more pressure than was necessary.
"Sam," she smiled, her eyes quickly taking him in. "I really didn't expect to find you here. I'd heard you'd run off to some northern city and become a millionaire."
He laughed and quickly explained away the rumor. Their conversation was nothing more than small talk, but he found himself not minding it. Joanna was working her old spells, something he had never been successful at fighting. It was too late to make up some weak excuse and leave. Tomorrow he'd hate himself for making a fool out of himself, but now he just let his eyes take in the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
Once, in the throes of his youthful love, he had called her a goddess. It was a description that seemed more appropriate than ever. Tall and slim, Joanna was a portrait of classical beauty. Her shining black hair tumbled in a waving mass down around her shoulders and halfway down her back. And those eyes, he found himself thinking, were the kind of eyes a man could lose himself in for years, black pools of mystery. Her cheeks were high, almost giving her a touch of haughty aloofness, which was completely dispelled by the sensual fullness of her red lips.
He mentally stripped away the flowing black evening dress she wore, trying to visualize the unveiled contours of her proud breasts that were provocatively hinted at by her dipping neckline. Dark brown, almost black cherries, were the way he pictured her stiff nipples. And her lips were flaring curves, just made for the touch of a man. But all this was simply a mental game.
He had never seen Joanna's naked body, though he had dreamed of it often enough. Time and time again, he had awkwardly tried to find some way to get that body into his father's hayloft, but had never been more successful in his amorous attempts than one or two goodnight kisses. It seemed humorous now, but then it had been nothing but sheer hell.
Finishing their drinks, they made their way onto the dance floor, slowly drifting to a blues number the pianist was butchering. But he didn't mind. In fact, he was only aware of the woman he held in his arms. She didn't dance, she glided, perfectly following his lead.
Two dances later, she was pressed much closer to him, her breasts tantalizing his chest and her pelvis brushing against his crotch occasionally so that he felt the definitely womanly protuberance of her pubis. Despite the ten years that had passed since he had last seen Joanna, he found that all too much of that eighteen-year-old adolescent remained in him. Her nearness was working on him, bringing a sensual stirring to his groin, which should have been numbed to all thoughts of sex by now. But then this was Joanna and she had always affected him that way.
The music stopped and they separated, one of Joanna's soul-melting smiles on her lips. "It's gotten a little warm and crowded in here. Would you care for some fresh air?"
He nodded and they made their way from the room and outside the building, although it was far warmer in the summer night than it had been inside. Sam made no objections, none of their old classmates were out here and Joanna was.
"The night's beautiful," she said, her eyes glancing at the full moon. "Think I can talk you into a walk?"
"You just did," he smiled, offering her his arm, which she took.
Aimlessly they strolled away from the main cluster of buildings forming the central core of the country club, heading out onto the deserted golf course. For several minutes neither spoke, just engrossed in the feeling of the night surrounding them.
Finally, Joanna glanced at him as if unsure of what she wanted so say, "I lied back there, Sam."
"Lied?" he smiled unable to take her seriously. "What do you have to lie about?"
"I knew you were at the reunion," she said. "In fact, you were the reason I came."
"Then I consider myself honored," he answered. "Any man would feel the same way."
"Times have changed, haven't they?" she went on, abruptly switching the subject, while he listened without questioning. "I mean you're no longer the boy I once knew and I'm no longer the girl you... "
"Tried to seduce," he supplied the remainder of her statement, as they entered a small grove of oaks surrounding a pond that formed a water trap for the golf course. "I guess, I'm not, but I think there's still a lot of that boy in me."
"Sometimes, I think there's too much of that girl in me," she continued. "I don't know if I showed it or not, but I was a terribly frightened girl."
"Come on," he laughed. "You were the coolest and sharpest girl in our class. What were you frightened of?"
"You, for one thing," she answered, as they stopped and she stepped in front of him.
"And now?" he answered studying her face. She was serious.
"We've both matured," she said. 'You're no longer a boy, but a successful man. And I'm a woman... "
"A very beautiful one," he added.
"Do you still think so?"
"A goddess," he nodded, unable to take his eyes from the moon-bathed beauty of her face.
"Thank you, Sam," she smiled, leaning to him and softly kissing his lips.
They parted, their mouths no more than a fraction of an inch away. For seconds, they just stood there, then he reached out, gently grasping her bare shoulders and easing her to him. She came without hesitating, this time her lips parting and her mouth opening. His tongue flicked out and probed into the sweetness of her mouth.
Her own tongue was far from inactive, teasing its tip over and under his. And when his oral digit receded back into the shelter of his own mouth, she followed, thrusting hard and passionately. Her arms encircled him, drawing her body even closer to his, as if she were trying to melt against him.
Overcoming the traces of his own youthful reluctance, his palms slid over the smoothness of her shoulders. Downward his fingers drifted, excited by the touch of her bare skin. Slipping along her side, he encountered the bulging curvature of her breasts that seemed to flow out from under her arms. The trembling of her anticipation was transmitted to his fingertips.
His hands inched out along the proud and firm mounds, squeezing. He could barely comprehend that this was actually happening here and now. But the thrusting tongue of this raven-haired goddess assured him that what was occurring was reality and not a dream.
Her arms around him and his hands refusing to relinquish their hold on the bulging curves of her breasts, they slowly drifted to the ground in their embrace. The grass was soft and dry, its fresh-cut suffusing and mingling with the slight scent of her perfume. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered the dress she was wearing. It looked expensive and not the perfect attire for a romp in this sylvan surrounding, but she made no protests and he wasn't about to suggest they delay until they could make their way back to his motel room. Briefly returning to her shoulders, his fingers worked the thin, thread-like straps down her arms. Her lips separated from his and her eyes opened, staring at him, as if she were unsure. Then her own hands found his and eased them back to her breasts, sliding the top of her dress down and rolling to her back so that the slightly domed cones lay naked for his eyes and hands.
Her tits were larger than he had ever imagined. Normally breasts this size had lost all traces of conical firmness and were either sagging pendulums of flesh or melon-like globes. But these were sleek and smooth cones topped by two dark mushrooms just as he had mentally pictured.
Lovingly his right hand caressed one of the supple peaks, as he leaned over her, his mouth once more covering hers. Her back arched upward, pushing her breast into his palm and a satisfied moaned muffled its way around their taunting tongues.
For minutes that seemed like hours, he caressed and fondled and played with the summery warmth of her tits. His fingers circled and swirled around the rubbery nipples, filling them with the hardness of arousal. Then he scissored them between his thumbs and forefingers, tweaking them lightly.
And when his hands finally abandoned the playground of her titflesh, his mouth surrounded a tempting crest. Brushing and licking, his tongue created a barrage of oral sensations that kept the flow of moans coming from her throat.
"Good," she murmured. "It feels so good!"
Meanwhile his roving hands had started the tortuously slow task of slipping her floor-length dress up the long, shapely slopes of her calves and thighs. She lifted her knees, assisting in the awkward maneuver as best she could, until her skirt was gathered around her at mid-thigh.
His tongue continued its busy swirling and twirling atop the aching crest it occupied, as he slid a hand beneath her skirt. Her legs drifted apart for his explorations.
She wore nothing beneath the dress!
For some reason that fact stunned him, as his fingers wove through the thick bush of her pubic hairs. First no bra and now no panties. It was as if she had come to the reunion for one reason, to make love with him. The thought staggered his mind.
"Ahhhhh," she moaned once more, bringing him back to the fantastic reality of this extraordinary situation. "Your hand feels so good. It's just like I knew it would be."
Cupping the prominent feminine bulge of her pubis, he tenderly massaged the mound of her sex. Slowly, he increased the vigor of his ministrations. In reaction, her hips gently rose and fell in rhythm of his kneading. The dampness that welled within her heating core seeped onto his palm.
The probing fingertip that dipped into the moist slit of her lovemound paused and taunted the button of her clit out from under its thin hood of skin. Methodically, he worked her body, striving to give her as much pleasure that he could. His fingertop caressed the growing nubbin of desire as her pelvis increased the undulations of need.
"Ahaummmmmm," she groaned, as another of his fingers wiggled between the pouting lips of her outer labia, gliding through the scalloped folds of her inner lips and into the chamber of her vagina.
Her cunt was aflood with hot and slippery fluids. His finger eased in and out of her quim without the slightest bit of resistance. It wouldn't take much more to bring her with his finger and then he would bring her with the stiff, throbbing shaft that eagerly awaited to be freed from his pants.
Deeper and harder, his finger stroked into the liquid heat of her cleft of need. At the same time his other finger rolled and tickled and rubbed the stiff bud of her clit. She writhed and thrashed on the ground beside him, her body reaching for the pleasure his careful ministrations were leading her toward. She moaned and whimpered aroused sighs of mounting lust. Her hips hunched into his hand striving to impale herself even deeper on his fucking digit.
Suddenly the world collapsed around his ears!
Joanna's body went rigid as a board. She reached down, jerking his hand from between her thighs. In a haste that bordered on desperation, she rolled out from under him, a hand grasping the front of her dress and holding it so that it covered her breasts.
"I'm sorry! I can't! I just can't!" she sobbed.
Before he could move to her, she was on her feet Tears streamed down her cheeks, "I'm sorry, Sam! I can't! I can't!"
As if he had been slugged with a sledge hammer, he sat there unable to comprehend what had taken place in a matter of one or two seconds. He stared into the night, watching silently as she ran toward the main building of the country club like a woman fleeing from a rapist.
Literally shaking himself, he pulled his senses back together, trying to rid his mind of the numbing shock, "Joanna! Joanna, please stop!"
But the black haired woman kept running without even glancing back over her shoulder. Still too confused to do anything else, he stumbled to his feet and ran after her, as she fled behind the main building and headed toward the parking lot.
By the time he reached the lot, Joanna had backed her car from its slot. He called again. Her head twisted to him, revealing a mask of tortured agony. He saw her mouth open as if to speak, but she only shook her head helplessly and slammed the gas pedal to the floorboard. The car peeled out of the parking lot and wheeled onto the highway.
Alone, he stood staring at the disappearing automobile. Too dumbfounded by the whole incident, he was unable to move or think, or even utter a disgusted curse. He had no explanation for what had happened. One moment Joanna was his, totally abandoning herself to the pleasures he ignited in her body. And then in the next instant, she was terrified. But of what?
There was no reason for it. No reason at all.