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From: "Eauhaute Bleu" <eauhautebleu1980@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Best Medicine by EauHauteBleu (M/F, Rom, Reunion, Oral) 
Date: Sat, 13 Jan 2001 10:10:05 -0500
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The Best Medicine by EauHauteBleu (M/F, Rom, Reunion, Oral)

Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>

Disclaimer
++++++++++
(Thanks to Henrik Larson for some of this disclaimer and copyright section. 
EHB.)
If, for some reason, you feel offended by sexual stories, then I don't know 
why you have opened this one. Maybe to be offended, so you can complain 
about how awful it is that somebody writes stuff like this. If that's the 
case, my advice is to seek professional help. You need it.

The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults.  If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now.  The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas 
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author make 
any guarantee.  You should be aware that the story might raise other matters 
that you find distasteful.  Caveat lector;  you read at your own risk.

Copyright
+++++++++
The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in any 
way.  If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as well.

(c) 2001 by Eau Haute Bleu.  All rights reserved.  For-profit use is 
strictly prohibited. Explicit permission is granted for electronic 
re-distribution, without changes.

If you liked the story, then feel free to tell me so. If you thought it 
could have been better, please let me know as well.

My E-mail is eauhautebleu1980@hotnospammail.com. Remove "no spam" to 
comment.

I am very grateful for the proofreading done by my friend O.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


The Best Medicine
Copyright 2001 by Eau Haute Bleu

Colleen lived in a small house, in an older neighborhood sandwiched between 
the interstate highway and the river.  The river was badly polluted, and the 
dam below the paper mill sent the reek of fermentation into the air. On hot 
summer nights, atmospheric inversions would hold the stench close to the 
ground, and it would roll into her bedroom windows in place of the cool 
clean breeze she needed.  The north wind brought the river smell, the south 
wind brought traffic noise and smog from the interstate. It was a home that 
invited and encouraged escape.

She came from a long line of immigrants renowned for escape.  I don't 
remember her dad. It seemed he was never home. Her mother was an alcoholic, 
an angry drunk, and beat her.  There is no reasoning with a drunk. If a 
drunk is having a bad day, everyone around them is going to have a bad day. 
The only way to avoid the abuse was to be somewhere else. Her bicycle became 
her escape.

Colleen ate for comfort, but was athletic enough to burn off most of what 
she ate. She was always a little on the chubby side, so she had nice boobs 
and plenty of energy.  Her best friend was anorexic or bulimic, and would 
periodically pass out at school from lack of nutrition. She was pretty 
depressing to be around and couldn't keep up on hikes or bike rides. By 
sophomore year, Colleen was looking to escape with a different companion.

For a brief and shining month that spring, Colleen and I bicycled all over, 
and discovered a secluded spot on Fish and Game club property at an 
abandoned farm east of town.  Together, we learned to kiss there. I explored 
the scent of her skin and hair, the sight of her face, the taste and texture 
of her lips, her tongue and mouth, and she mine, for what seemed like an 
eternity. I began to think that the universe revolved around her, that it 
couldn't possibly rain on a day that we were to be together. My purpose in 
life became the exploration of her mouth. It hadn't yet occurred to me that 
she needed me to go further.

She dumped me for another guy. She never explained why; I guess you learn to 
avoid confrontations when you grow up with an alcoholic parent. She just 
stopped agreeing to do anything with me, and starting showing up with him. 
He was taller than me, more publicly affectionate, perhaps more adventurous.

It wasn't her first escape, and it wouldn't be her last.

The new boyfriend is gone now; dumped, as I was, for another man. Her first 
two husbands are gone too, divorced, that is.

I stayed in touch with Colleen for a long time, eventually salvaging a long 
distance friendship of sorts with her and her various boyfriends and 
husbands. The second divorce was very hard on her, and in her hurt, she 
reached for me. I was there for her.

She came to a few of my races that year, and cheered for me. Long talks in 
the car led again to those wonderful exploratory kisses.  The kisses led her 
to several long weekend trips to be together. Fourteen years after first 
exploring each other we had a brief but priceless affair.

It's hard sometimes, when you are too close to something, to see it clearly 
enough, to find and organize the words to explain how much it means to you. 
I will do my best, with a long overdue "thank you".
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dearest Colleen,
It was really wonderful to have you show up to cheer for me at that slalom 
race in April.  The quiet talk in my car afterward, about your separating 
from your husband, and your parting kiss brought back feelings and memories 
I will carry for a lifetime.

You still have that power over me.

It was that second race, really, when you left your mark in my heart 
forever.  I hoped that you would keep your promise to show up, but I had 
already invited my long-term girlfriend to attend. She wasn't really looking 
for a husband (been there, done that), and had given me permission to pursue 
other relationships.  This was different. I had to retract my invitation, 
wound her, and reject her, to be free to pursue my relationship with you. I 
had to do to her, what you had done to me. It was the deathblow to a 
deteriorating relationship.

I trusted you to keep your word. It wasn't easy, after the way you had 
dumped me, and every other guy you had ever committed to.

This time, you didn't disappoint me.

You came. You cheered. You shared my dinner and camped with me in the back 
of my cold rusty Jeep, on a night when estrogen was surely calling you to a 
warm cozy nest.  You made love to me, fulfilling the promise of all those 
ancient kisses.

After fourteen years of wanting you, loving you was heaven.

I remember you straddling me in the back of my Jeep, wearing only a loose 
sweatshirt against the cold night air, making love to me.  Just as in the 
old days, the kisses went on forever, their own reward. I explored your 
mouth with my tongue, reveling in the taste, the smell and texture of you. I 
found the smooth slickness inside your soft lips; the hard sharp arches of 
your teeth. I probed the sweetness beneath your tongue, and the rough 
cobblestone texture deep in the back, where the taste of you changed in some 
subtle, indescribable way. I brushed my lips across yours, side to side, 
eyes closed, breathing in the imprinted scent of your mouth, your nose, and 
your breath. I immersed myself in you, letting go of every care in the 
world, and savoring the essences of you that I had been denied for so long.

You drew my lips between your teeth and nibbled gently, then my tongue. Your 
tongue came into my mouth and touched and tasted every part of me you could 
reach. You tasted me with patient hunger, stroking my lips and tongue. With 
your knees on either side of my ribs, you lowered yourself slowly onto my 
hardness and gently rocked your hips, feeling every tiny, delicious point of 
contact. I felt the Heat of you first. Then incredible warm, slick wetness 
as your sex stroked the front side of my cock, the slight scratchiness of 
your wet fur adding extra stimulation to my circumcised cock-head. We stayed 
that way for a long time, savoring the alternating heat and cold as you 
moved.  Then you reached down between us, lifted the head of my cock to your 
opening, and flowed yourself onto and around the essence of my being. Your 
Heat enveloped me, and total relaxation. You rocked your hips, stroking my 
corona, the mushroom-shaped head of my cock, with the ridges just inside 
your cunt. Or were you stroking yourself with me? I was in heaven, being 
inside you.

You rocked.

A contraction deep within me hardened my cock, lengthening it, the center of 
my perception, and sending it reaching, ever deeper into your center. 
Sending me spiraling up to dizzying heights of ecstasy.

You paused.

Slowly, I relaxed, and began to float back down to the mere joy of being 
inside you.

I savored the sensations: warmth, compression, bending, slick pulling, the 
ridges of your cunt dragging stronger hints of ecstasy over my glans every 
time you rose.

You rocked.

You paused.

I looked up into the blue of your eyes, your rapt gaze, and felt myself 
melting into some single being that was part I and part you.

Rock.

Pause.

We made love the same way we had kissed. Slowly. Deliberately. Savoring each 
smell, each contraction and each tactile sensation.

Rock.

Pause.

Savor.

I drank in the sight of your face, your eyes and your mouth. I reached under 
your sweatshirt, and found your nipples.  Slowly, lightly, I stroked them. 
Slowly, deliciously, the orgasm built. With each rocking of your hips, I 
could feel you brushing your cervix slowly, gently, over the tip of my cock. 
  You paused, giving the muscles time to relax and the nerves time to 
recover full sensation after each exquisite movement.

Rock.

Pause.

Savor.

Your eyes were locked on mine. I squeezed your nipples harder between each 
thumb and forefinger. Your eyes closed and your head rolled back.

Rock.

Pause.

And then it was there.  The orgasm snuck up on me out of complete 
relaxation, of wanting nothing more than to be there, inside you, forever. 
Rock. Pause. As constant as waves breaking on a beach: surge, crash, and 
flow. Surge, crash, flow. The rising tide of orgasm became surf.  I became 
the surf, flowing into you again, and again, and again. Every time you 
moved, I became another wave, surging into you, crashing into ecstasy, and 
flowing into rapture.
+++++++++++++++++++++++

I remember the next time, when you made the long drive to my home, for 
another intimate weekend.

I remember you stretched out naked, lying next to me in my bed. Those 
wonderful exploratory kisses again, that lasted forever. And then I moved 
lower. I found that special place behind your ear. I buried my nose there, 
and inhaled your scent. Tested it with my tongue. Closed my eyes and focused 
all of my consciousness on the smell of the woman I loved.

My lips left a trail of moisture on your skin, from your earlobe to your 
left nipple.  I teased the areola with my tongue, drawing wet strokes from 
the globe of your breast to the hard, erected nipple. Your few fine hairs 
tugged at the areola as I licked. I placed my mouth over your breast, and 
drew it in, sucking gently, between my teeth.  Not the hard, fast, insistent 
suckling of an infant, but slowly, deliberately, leaving no doubt what I 
wanted. Still sucking, I gently closed my teeth onto your skin, and sucked 
harder as I drew away, felt the texture change from skin, to areola, to 
nipple, and coaxed tiny droplets of your musky essence into my mouth. You 
moaned, and arched your back with the pleasure. I couldn't exactly taste 
your musk on my tongue, but the next time I exhaled through my nose, you 
were there, way back inside my head. Every breath was filled with you. My 
cock jumped and throbbed, but I was not done savoring you with my other 
senses.

I continued lower, and stopped briefly at your belly button. Clean.

I skipped your center, fighting my attraction to the scent of your arousal, 
and resumed my explorations on the soft skin behind your left knee. Teasing 
you, more than anything. I followed that tendon from your knee, up the 
muscle, with my lips and teeth, making little nips along the way. Just 
before your mound I explored the tendon again, the beginnings of your soft 
fur, and the little hollow between your thigh and your labia.  I marveled at 
your skin, so smooth and pale and perfect.

The flower of your sex had blossomed, petals opened, and a pearly drop of 
your nectar had grown in your center, inviting me in. I dropped to the other 
knee, and nipped and kissed my way back to your sex. I paused over you, 
breathing in your scent, and gently lowered my tongue into your folds, 
coating my tongue with your slick nectar. Feeling the engorged vee of your 
inner lips, guiding me to the pearl of your ecstasy. Drawing the thickness 
of your nectar into my throat.

I lost myself in you, exploring between your inner and outer labia for that 
musky essence, driving my tongue deep into your opening for that salty, 
heavy metallic taste, then stroking you from anus to clitoris, over and over 
until the whole front wall of your cunt began to tremble against my tongue. 
I took your clitoris between my lips, rested the rough surface of my tongue 
against the very tip, and sucked, gently. I slowed my pace.

The tiniest lick.

I could feel you twitch.

I paused, and waited for it to pass.

Felt you relax.

I sucked again, harder, drawing you deeper.

Lick. Twitch.

Pause.

Suck.

Lick. Twitch.

Pause.

Eventually I brought you over the edge, with the top of my tongue, my whole 
universe, resting directly on your clitoris.

Watching your breasts rise and fall,

Hearing you breathe and moan,

Tasting you,

Breathing you,

Immersed in you,

Feeling you contracting in orgasm; again, and again, and again.

You.

You are the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced.

Thank you for sharing yourself with me.

Your gift to me is so rare that most will never experience it: an intimacy 
requiring that sexual fit be perfect, that love and trust, skill and lust 
occur together, and that all be off the scale. You brought me to a state 
that is nearly impossible to find again, even having been there; yet there 
it was, the very first time that you made love to me.

Thank you.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Shortly after this second interlude, I received the most beautifully written 
anonymous thank-you note. The author rhetorically asked how I knew just the 
right medicine, just the right dose, to aid her healing. The answer should 
be obvious from what I've written: I loved her with every fiber of my being. 
  I couldn't tell her that, though, because she also thanked me for not 
pursuing her, not trying to capture her or hold her too closely.  It was a 
good-bye, of sorts.  Another escape.

Colleen began dating someone closer to her home.  We still met privately for 
a while, talking and sometimes kissing. Our meetings became less frequent as 
her new relationship matured. Eventually they married. Several 
ex-girlfriends and an ex-fianc  later; so did I.  It took a long time to 
find another woman who could measure up to the standard Colleen had set.

At this writing, another fourteen years have passed. I wrote this story to 
preserve and share a precious memory, so that the memory, at least, may 
endure. The farm, the Fish and Game club, and The Aeromotor windmill are all 
gone. Even the hillside is gone now, swallowed in the expansion of a highway 
interchange. Colleen's third marriage has proven to be solid and enduring. 
She must have learned something, or perhaps she really did get just the 
right medicine: the best medicine.

C. 2001 by Eau Haute Bleu



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