Finding It - Sex Stories

Finding It

... have a sharp memory of senior prom all those years ago. That was when Mark invited me to spend the night with him. The night I lost my virginity. The night I fell in love with him. My hair blows gently down my back, the sea-tingled breeze hits my senses and sadness overcomes me. I bite my lip to stop myself crying and with a couple of deep breaths, I manage to regain my composure but my moment of calm is interrupted. “Reminiscing?” Hearing it, I tense up. He isn’t supposed to be here. I idly think it is my imagination, a deep hope that a dream is coming true tempting me but closing my eyes, I force myself to take a breath and remind myself that he isn’t here. “Well?” the same deep voice asks me. My palms begin to sweat as I realise that he is actually here. Moistening my lips, I grip onto the railing edge to resist the urge to slap him. “What if I am? You should know that I’m a sucker for sentimentality,” I reply, keeping my back to him. “I remember. It’s one of the things I love about you,” he replies and from the volume of his voice, I realise he is standing right behind me. I tense up at the sound of the L-word coming from him but before I can move away, I feel him gently take a strand of my hair in his fingertips. “Just as soft as I remember. You’ve grown it longer.” “Haircuts aren’t cheap and I’m unemployed,” I bitterly say, still looking into my champagne glass. “It looks great,” he says, moving next to me. I feel him looking at me, catching the sight of a near-empty ...

... tumbler of bourbon in his hand in the corner of my eye. “I thought you were in Hong Kong?" “I came back earlier today. How could I pass up my high school reunion?” he says. I keep my eyes down, fearing what will happen if I look at him so I start to turn away to avoid his gaze. “Beth, come on, please look at me,” he asks with a hint of frustration. Sighing, I realise he isn’t going anywhere. Downing my glass, I turn to look at him and my breath catches in my throat. Mark Taylor is dressed in a dark suit and white shirt, his hair slightly longer but his eyes are still piercingly green. A warm smile graces his sculpted lips and I awkwardly smile back. “Hi,” he gently says, taking my hand before I can snatch it away. “Hey,” I barely whisper. I watch him kiss the back of my hand, keeping it close to him. I don’t make an effort to pull it away. I want to be hopeful, as sad as it sounds, that he still thinks about me. “How have you been?” I ask. “Busy, y’know,” he wistfully replies. “Not really,” I shrug, causing him to smile. “I’ve missed your wit,” he remarks but his warmth feels wrong, even after all this time. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” I murmur, looking down at my feet. “Why not?” he asks, stroking the side of my hand with his thumb. “It just gives me hope.” “There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful. You look beautiful,” he admires me. “Thank you,” I manage to smile, causing him to tilt my chin up so I can see his returning smile. “Gets me every time,” he murmurs, ...