Summer Story by Doc

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There was something that she said...it was barely a whisper but his ear begged for
understanding. He tried to remember.

The grass swayed over his head. He looked straight up. The clouds seemed to make
formations that he might have known.

He pulled a stalk and chewed on it. The sun warmed him and he sensed he was the only
person for miles. Just him, the grass, and the blue blue sky. He heard a tractor way in
the distance but it was like a dream he had had...somnolent and passing.

He got lost in a reverie....

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He remembered.  He always remembered, but this memory was bittersweet.

That day, as today, it was a woman.  For a second he wondered if that word -- woman --
was appropriate.  Were they both 'just kids'?  He decided no, they had been, even then,
a man and a woman.

When Sharon picked him up in her car, he knew they were going on a picnic.  He also knew
that he was most likely to be part of the day's repast.  She was omnivorous.  He was
hers, if only because she found him satisfying.

Sharon was a bit chunky.  He liked that.  She was blonde.  He loved that.  She found him
 attractive (he guessed) though she never would say that.  She was a practical person,
back attending college to 'get ahead'.  He was clueless; she knew where she was going.
He was along for the ride.

The open field she found, along a country road, ended up a high hill in dark woods.  He
hauled the picnic basket. She picked the spot.  Of course it was perfect, overlooking
the dappled hills of rural Western Pennsylvania.  He was a stranger in a strange land
here; she knew the countryside and every lane and pond and farm and field as only a
native could.

He put out the blanket (hers) and they ate, chatting. The grass swayed around them.
Above, the clouds were puffy.  He lay on his back, gazing at the castles in the air,
back-lit by sun against the blue sky.  He heard a distant dog barking.

As always, she let him know as they finished that it was time for dessert.  He never
knew if he was dessert, or if she was.  They kissed. They touched.  Time floated by. The
wine dulled their senses.  The breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees.

He wasn't sure when he noticed the air had a chill.  He took his attention from Sharon's
bare breasts, removing his hands from their busy work further down.  The light changed.
He looked up.  The puffy white clouds has turned gray.  The wind was damp and cold.  He
looked at her, for any signal.  She gazed up and then pulled him down again.  She wanted
more.  He had work to do.  She wasn't going to let him divert her attention from her
satisfaction.  He resumed.

It might have been five minutes.... it might have been 20 minutes later... when the
first icy raindrops hit.  This time she spoke and told him to gather up the remains of
their lunch.  As he finished, the first sheets of rain, driven by strong winds, hit.
She ran first, haphazardly putting on 'just enough' of her clothing as she went... down
the hill, though the soaked grass.  He followed as best he could.  She got to her car,
unlocked the doors, and jumped in first.  He dove into the passenger seat afterwards.

And she made it clear that -- soaked and wet and cold -- she was still intent on getting
him to pleasure her.  He performed.  It made him feel good to do that.  Frozen to the
bone from the frigid rain, they had melted in each others' sodden arms.  The smell of
sex permeated the car.

They finished what they had started.  And she drove him back, depositing him in front of
his college dorm, then disappearing down the road and off the campus.  He followed her
vehicle until it disappeared from sight.

That day was special.  It overcame the day she had accepted the advances of a supposed
friend and the two of them fucked while he stood, upset, outside the locked door.  It
made up for her abruptness when, a year later, he'd taken a bus to her town only to see
her and she'd made it very clear that she had 'moved on' and spent perhaps 15 minutes
with him -- in the bus terminal.  That afternoon justified her love of teasing him for
hours, bringing him to the edge of orgasm just to amuse herself -- and then to 'test
him' by seeing how far he would spurt when she finally decided it was time to let him
have his -- after she had enjoyed orgasm after orgasm.

One thing remained that left him angry, even on this day as he chewed on a stalk of
grass, lying in the swaying grass, enjoying the clouds at play.  It was simply that she
had escaped from his life and he'd never seen her again.  Worse, he had no way to find
her.  He wanted to ask a simple question: "Did I mean anything at all to you?"  He knew
she would always tell the truth.  Worse, he knew she would probably say, "Not really.  I
was just horny and you were fun.  That's all you ever meant to me."

If she'd said that he would have said, "Well, I'm glad I was useful to you in at ?
least some small way." For him that was his essence tied up in a bundle.  He would never get a chance to tell her that.