A Polaroid of Kristina, Part 3 - Sex Stories

A Polaroid of Kristina, Part 3

Some people remember things most vividly through smells, others through tastes. For others it is words. For me, on the other hand, it is with images, and so it was not too surprising that the picture I had found of my long-ago lover triggered a flash flood of long-buried memories. I had been eighteen and Kristina had been forty-seven, or at least that had been my best guess. And one July afternoon she had seduced me. But I’m not sure that is really the right word, as it perhaps suggests reluctance on my part, or that I needed some kind of convincing. For me it had been a dream come true and I had been more than eager, having been infatuated with her for several weeks. And somehow I had mostly forgotten her since. That was upsetting, so much so that after the memories and mental images of that first afternoon finished running through my mind, I got up to fix myself a drink, leaving the Polaroid on the desk. When I returned, I picked it up again and took a long sip of my drink, holding the picture up in front of me. Some time after that first afternoon, about a month later, I had told her, very earnestly, that I loved her. She had not answered me in kind, and had instead deflected me, and then distracted me by allowing me to take on Polaroid snapshot of her in any pose I wanted, nude. I had asked her to line in bed, propping her head up on one arm, her legs spread, with her other hand spreading her vaginal lips ever so slightly. She had indulged me enthusiastically and ...

... willingly, and the love-making session immediately afterwards had been epic. I looked again at the picture and was caught more by her smile than by her erotic pose. Her body was spectacular, all long legs, flat stomach, small pert breasts, golden skin and perfect skin tone. However it was her smile and her eyes that were haunting me now. Her smile was real, reaching every part of her face, and her eyes looked surprisingly youthful. Perhaps it was that now, at forty-three, I was so much closer to her age as it was frozen forever in the snapshot. But that was not all. She looked happy, even joyous, a woman at peace with everything. To my older eyes she looked like a woman who was in love, despite what she had told me then. And of course why she could not tell me that at the time now made perfect sense. It would not have been fair for her to have gotten my hopes up, even if it meant that she could not tell me how she felt. That afternoon so long ago when I had left her apartment had left my eighteen-year-old self reeling. I had gone for a walk instead of going back home (we lived in the same large apartment building, she on the 26th floor, my family on the 6th). After I recovered to the point where I felt I could face my family without my actions being written all over my face, for I viscerally felt that it was somehow visually apparent that I had had sex just a short time before, I went to my room for the night as soon as I reasonably could. Thoughts such as, “I just had sex. Kristina ...