Receiving Head

If anyone, even Mr. Scott, asks “How can I pleasure you?” I’m likely to answer, “Get me a glass of wine and some chocolate chip cookies and leave me alone to watch an episode of West Wing.” A couple years ago I read a blog post by a woman who said she also dreaded those words even though she loved oral sex. (I wish I could remember where I read that!) It made me so happy to know I wasn’t the only woman like this.

This is one area of my sex life where I want someone to take charge (in a trusting, consensual way of course). Grab me and pull me to you. Put your hand in my pants and feel my wetness. Pull my underwear off. I want to lie back and let you do what you have learned through careful research are the things I love. (Mr. Scott seems to really enjoy doing all that research.)

I like a lot of things and it’s tricky to find the right combination sometimes. I know how to get myself off in about five minutes when I need a maintenance orgasm but working this out with someone else, even a long-term partner who knows me well, isn’t always easy.

I love having my clit worked over. Sometimes lightly. Sometimes firm pressure. Sometimes rubbing hard. Wide tongue lapping (although not like a slobbery dog), deliberate tongue tip flickering.

I love having something inside me. Fingers hitting my g-spot. The surprise of a cold, large, stainless steel dildo. A small vibrator delicately inserted. I often close my eyes and don’t know what Mr. Scott is up to until I feel it.

When I need something specific I’ll say so. If something is uncomfortable or for any reason not working I’ll say so.

I know this isn’t exactly a precise road map to my oral pleasure. I don’t have a lot of patience if things aren’t going right but I’ll put a stop to it and suggest trying something else if it’s not working. It takes a lot of patience on my partner’s part and the ability to read me and a willingness to learn about me. But once you figure it out, take charge. Be enthusiastic. Let me relax and enjoy myself. Because once I hit the zone I’m not going to be able to say much, or do anything other than lose myself in the moment, and you’ll be on your own for a bit. Carry on with whatever you’re doing until either orgasm or further instructions.

I was listening to Louder than Bombs this morning while I took a break from writing this post to have breakfast. When this song came on it made me smile, bringing my mind back to this topic. I really do like to stretch out and wait.

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See You at the Park

“I’ll be at the southwest corner of the park at a quarter past two this afternoon,” I told him and then hung up before he replied.

By ten past, I’m in my usual spot, sitting on the ground. I admired my legs, stretched out before me, long and tan after the summer of running. The grass smelled sweet and the sun was warm. It was a perfect afternoon to be in the park.

I look up at 2:15. I spot him running along the path in my direction. He’s wearing my favorite t-shirt. I smile. He looks straight ahead.

He’s running fast today, breathing hard. He must have started late. I love that he worked hard to be here on time for me. I watch his leg muscles slide under his skin, pushing him along.

He stops at a bench about five feet away from me, leaning over the back and panting. He looks around, avoiding eye contact with me. He stands up straight and tall and slowly pulls the t-shirt over his head. I watch his arms, his torso, stretched out in front of me.

He drops the t-shirt over the back of the bench. He rests there for another minute then continues running down the path, not as quickly now.

I sit absolutely still until he’s out of sight around the corner then I scramble to my feet and rush to the bench. I pick up the shirt in both hands and lift it to my face, breathing in deeply. I love the smell of him. Sweat and shampoo and whatever it is that makes him smell like him.

I throw the shirt over one shoulder and decide to stroll home slowly, making him wait for me to join him there, taking my time enjoying his scent.

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Sculpture Garden

It’s in the middle of the city but I don’t think many people pay it any mind. Tourists seem to not know it exists. It’s a little too far out of the way for most office workers to visit for lunch.

I’ve kept it my secret but I fantasize about meeting you there, in the sculpture garden. I frequently go out of my way to pass it because of the thrill I get thinking of a rendezvous.

In warm weather the shadows are cool and inviting. In rain a black umbrella in a dark corner wouldn’t be noticed by the few passersby rushing by.

The smooth features of the one sculpture that always stops me in my tracks reminds me of a fleshy jumble of limbs.

IMG_2856-a

For months I passed by at street level, peeking, until one day I had the courage to descend the steps into the garden proper. Like approaching a crush I’d been too timid to talk to.

Over time I felt welcomed. I began exploring other parts of the garden, meeting its other inhabitants. They drew me back time and time again.

My heart raced when I discovered it. A parting in the ivy appears when you look at Rodin’s “Crouching Woman” from a certain angle, revealing a slight path behind the ivy, a secret welcome for lovers. As if the sculptures had been pointing me toward it, once I’d learn to look at them properly.

I think of sneaking in early, at sunrise. Or at dusk. Darkness would be safest. But I also want to be daring,  at that time of morning after the first wave of tourists has walked by and before any workers break for lunch. In the sun. In the heat of the day. We’ll be looking at “Crouching Lady” one moment, pretending to admire it hand-in-hand as we wait for the garden to clear of anyone else, then we’ll slip away behind the ivy.

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Wicked Wednesday: Strangers and Cake

The prompt for this week’s Wicked Wednesday is strangers on a train. My first thought upon seeing the prompt, however, was of some notes I jotted down several years ago inspired by a cable-car ride up the Untersberg in Salzburg. I had fun revisiting those notes.

She was riding the cable car to the top of Untersberg. She traveled alone but the car was full with a tour group of senior citizens. Their guide was a young man who spoke English with a hint of an accent. He also spoke perfect-sounding German. He wasn’t much taller than she, with a shock of white-blond hair. Black-rimmed glasses. Gray sweater with blue striped collar shirt peeking out. Jeans. Black walking shoes. Very studious looking. Distractingly cute.

She didn’t know that much about the area so she tried to eavesdrop on what he told the group. She inched closer to listen. He stopped talking to allow the group some time to admire the mountain view.

Caught up in the view herself, she flinched when she heard a low voice close to her. “You didn’t pay for the tour.” She hadn’t noticed he’d moved next to her. His eyes sparkled blue. He was smiling.

“It’s a small, enclosed space,” she said. “I couldn’t help over hearing.”

“Still,” he said. “I think you owe me something.” She couldn’t believe he was coming on so strongly and in front of all the senior citizens. His smile was genuine, though, lighting up his eyes.

“What did you have in mind?” She turned to face him directly. Her cheeks burned. She was never this forward but she was on vacation and trying new things.

“Coffee later? I’m free after I finish this tour.”

“Okay.”

“Do you know the city well?”

“Well enough to not care how touristy it is, but I want a piece of cake from that place on Mozartplatz.”

He frowned.

“I bet you have to take tour groups there all the time.” She smiled.

“Yes.”

“I’m only here a few days so I’m going back for some cake.”

“How’s this?” he countered. “You buy me a coffee while you eat your cake at an over-priced tourist café, then I decide where to take you for dinner for some real local food. Including cake.”

“You already want to make dinner plans with me?”

“Yes, if you’re only here a few days I have no time to waste.”

“How do you know you like me enough for dinner?”

He shrugged. “I don’t but I’m willing to take the chance. It’s just dinner.”

“And cake.”

“And cake.”

The cable car was docking at the top so he had to turn his attention back to the group. She waited in the back to let the group off first. As she stepped off, he maneuvered through the crowd back to her.

“Kurt,” he said, extending his hand.

“Allie,” she said, shaking it. “Have fun with your friends.” She nodded at the group.

“I’ll meet you at that café as soon as I’m done here.”

Allie hiked across the snow pack beyond the group. She watched Kurt from afar, speaking easily with them, smiling when the women flirted with him, nodding patiently at everyone’s exclamations over the view, answering questions, gently herding them away from getting too close to the edge. He was friendly and forward, good qualities in a tour guide. But he knew absolutely nothing about her. She didn’t believe she was breathtakingly gorgeous enough for guys to hit on her like that.

She wondered how often he used his tour guide job to pick up women traveling through town. The glasses were a nice touch, she thought, attracting a certain type of girl. Attracting her.

The group eventually shuffled through the snow back to the cable car, Kurt making sure everyone boarded safely.

Allie waited for the following cable car. She pulled a book out of her backpack but she couldn’t concentrate on reading. He was coming on very strong and she usually didn’t like that. But something about him seemed genuinely sweet.

Try new things, she reminded herself. I’ll spend an hour with him, eating cake.

“You have a little cream on your face,” Kurt said. “May I?”

Allie looked up from her half-eaten cake and nodded. Kurt’s eyes sparkled, holding her attention. He raised his hand to her face. His thumb pressed to her lips. Impulse took over Allie. She licked his thumb and drew it into her mouth. She sucked the cream off, then released his thumb.

They hastily stood up, dropped some euro on the table, and rushed out the door.

“My hotel is three blocks away,” Allie said, flustered.

“My office is two,” Kurt replied efficiently. They crossed two streets against the lights and crashed into a locked door in an alcove. Allie pushed against Kurt and kissed him deeply while he fumbled with keys from his pocket.

In the dim office Allie saw a couch and rushed for it. She heard the click of the door locking, then Kurt grabbed her from behind. They tumbled onto the couch together.

There was no time for slow, romantic overtures. Allie sat on top of Kurt and pulled her t-shirt over her head then reached for his sweater. He reached around her to unclasp her bra.

“Put your glasses back on,” she said when he’d removed them to take his sweater off.

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, then grabbed her tight to flip them over together. They tugged at each other’s jeans.

Naked chest to naked chest, denim-clad legs tangled, Kurt held Allie tight and kissed her hard.

“I’ve never fucked someone I just met,” Allie whispered.

“Still time to change your mind,” Kurt whispered back.

“I want to do it,” she assured him. “I’m ready when you are.”

“You taste like sweet cream,” he replied, kissing her again and sliding into her. She moaned and bit his lip gently.

Later, Allie awoke from a light doze. Kurt’s body on hers warmed her. She touched his naked back. It was cool from the sweat. He mumbled something in German before fully waking.

“What was that?” she asked.

He raised his head slightly and adjusted his glasses.

“Does this mean you’ll have dinner with me?”

“Well, I never did get to finish my cake.”

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Wicked Wednesday: Recollection

Last week I had a painful dental procedure done. It got me thinking about the various dentists I’ve been to and how some of them make me feel more relaxed than others. Going to the dentist is one of those necessities of modern life. For some of us it’s a necessary evil and because I move around a lot I rarely have the chance to settle in with a favorite dentist for the long term. I have a lot of anxiety around dental visits and need just the right person to calm me..

Last week’s dentist was quick and efficient but not necessarily relaxing, except for the relief that came from realizing that it was done in about an hour after they’d told me it would take ninety minutes.

One dentist I’ve had makes me feel more relaxed than any other. I could never exactly put my finger on why or how. He speaks gently. But deliberately. He’s awkward with small talk, but I can tell he makes notes to familiarize himself to make it seem like he’s remembering what I told him last visit. He’s cold in his brevity but warm in his tone.

I was discussing this with a friend who said he’d had a dentist experience that made him feel submissive even though he’s not submissive. Something in this particular dentist had sparked that feeling in him. And I think it’s the same with me and my dentist. He puts me in a trance of some sort. I want to please him by being a good patient. I trust him to do whatever he needs. To my teeth.

Dental erotica is definitely not my thing. Dentists and zombies are my top two turn-offs. But the trust I place in my dentist to handle a sensitive part of my body is similar to the trust of a lover.

 

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Wicked Wednesday: One Man

I’m a week late with the One Man prompt…

I dreamed I was being nosed by a dog in my sleep, so realistically I believed it was happening. As I drifted toward consciousness I remembered we don’t have a dog. Or a cat. Or children, or anything else that might take it upon itself to wake me up. I opened my eyes just enough to make out his shape from the light of the street lamp outside the window. He stood over the bed, nudging my forehead and cheek with the end of his hard cock.

“Blow me before I leave for work?” It was a soft request. Not a demand. Almost pleading. Hopeful.

I rolled over and checked the clock.

“Come back in twenty minutes.” I closed my eyes and pulled the puffy down comforter over my head.

“In twenty minutes I’ll barely have time to catch my bus.” He sounded slightly more pleading now. But perhaps that was effect of his voice being muffled through the comforter.

“That’s your problem,” I mumbled, near dozing again.

I did want to give him a blow job. I love giving him blow jobs. Sometimes I comply fully, right away, and give him what he asks for. Sometimes I make him wait for it until the very last minute. Sometimes I really do fall back to sleep and he doesn’t get anything until he gets home in the evening.

Footsteps tread lightly but steadily. He paced, the discomfort of the hard on making him anxious. After a few minutes, his weight sank the far corner of the bed with a faint whine of the springs. Lightly his hand touched my ankle through the comforter, then withdrew after a moment.

I pulled the cover down just enough to peep at the clock.

“You’re awake?”

“I am,” I replied but I didn’t remove the comforter any further.

He sighed. “I have to go soon.”

“I know.”

He waited with impatient sighs and his foot tapping against the leg of the bed.

“Come here,” I finally directed him. I rolled over onto my stomach, propped on my elbows, facing the side of the bed. He presented himself, hard cock level with my face having escaped from his jeans. He wore my favorite striped sweater of his, too. He really did know how to make me happy.

I eased his cock into my mouth. He moaned with relief and pushed forward, wanting more. We didn’t have time for frivolity. He fucked my my lips, my tongue, the back of my throat. I imagined him fucking my pussy. I was going to be wet all day, waiting for him to return home that evening.

His release shot through me like a shockwave. I swallowed hungrily. I didn’t want him to leave now.

“I really have to leave now.” He carefully hid his cock behind the buttonfly of his jeans before leaning down to kiss me deeply. He pulled the comforter back over me.

“Be ready for my turn when you get home.”

I’d be the one pacing impatiently all day.

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Choices

I chose not to have a threesome one time. I was casually dating a guy and on a hot summer afternoon he and his roommate appeared at my door. He said something along the lines of, “We were bored and thought a threesome would be fun.” I said, “No.” We had never discussed a threesome before. I didn’t like his roommate very much. In general I’m not against them, it just wasn’t a good idea that day.

He got mad and called me some names, then they left. I closed the door to my apartment and on that chapter of my life – we only saw each other once or twice after that. I pretty much forgot about that afternoon.

Lately, though, I’ve been wrestling with thoughts of if I was lucky or not that afternoon. So many women would have been coerced or bullied into sex, or outright assaulted or raped, after initially saying “No” to that situation. And the only thing that happened to me was two guys got frustrated and left my home. They may have been rude about it, but they didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do.

Considering today’s climate, I feel lucky. But I shouldn’t feel that way. All women should expect that if they say “No” to sex, the worst that happens is hurt feelings. All women should be able to expect their male acquaintances to be decent people.

The Stanford case has paralyzed me with anger. I’ve had trouble discussing it with people. I wonder, though, if mainstream opinions are finally catching on to the issue of rape and how it’s discussed. I hope so.

I shouldn’t be lucky. What happened to me should be the norm.

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Kuchen Wunsch

A version of this piece was originally written for Exhibit A when he was running a marathon and asked for stories about running and sex. I raced last weekend and I recently had an amazing piece of cake, so this story came back to my mind. He enthusiastically encouraged me to share it.

In Munich it isn’t easy to find a meal that’s healthy rather than heavy but for my last meal before the marathon I needed to eat reasonably light. I found a café open early for dinner and explained that I simply wanted grilled chicken and a green salad. Of course it was served with fried potatoes on the side. I’m not one to deny myself pleasures so I took a few bites, salty and greasy and magnificent, before returning to my plain chicken and large glass of water. I wanted a beer. The weather was perfect for sitting all night in a biergarten but it would have to wait for tomorrow. Okay, so sometimes I do deny myself pleasures, at least temporarily.

The waiter cleared my plates. Behind him appeared a buxom young woman holding a dessert tray. So much powdered sugar and sculpted chocolate it held that fairy tale enchantment that Bavaria oozes with.

Haben Sie einen Kuchen Wunsch?” Her large blue eyes begged me to take a piece of cake, and they begged for something more from me. Kuchen Wunsch, cake wish. The phrasing charmed me almost as much as her blushing pink cheeks. I did have a wish to take her back to my hotel and see just how flushed I could make those cheeks but it was one of those pleasures that would have to wait. I couldn’t expend the energy so close to the race.

My eyes lingered on the bit of cleavage peeking from her scoop-neck blouse before settling on her tray of sweets. If I wasn’t going to fuck her, I would definitely be having a piece of cake. I chose a kirschtorte, black forest.

Her thumb slipped as she handed me the plate, sliding through the top layer of cherry syrup and cream. She made to draw back and apologize but I placed my fingertips on the back of her hand. Her eyes encouraged me. I raised her thumb to my lips and kissed her offered confection, licking the cream from my lips. Suddenly shy, she drew her hand back and I let her. More than anything else that little gesture of pulling away made me so hard. I planned to enjoy my cake then go back to my hotel room and think of her.

After the last bite, I ran my finger across the place through the syrup and cream then licked it. I wanted to smell like the cake, and like her. I wanted to smell the sticky sweetness on myself later.

Alone in my room, I turned off all the lights, undressed, and sank into the soft, thick comforter. I held my fingers to my nose and inhaled the almost sickly sweet scent of cream and chocolate. I moved my hand to my hard cock, imagining her large blue eyes watching me and her cheeks blushing deeper with every stroke I took. When I came, I imagined myself drizzling cum over her breasts and the dessert tray, like icing.

**

I’d been going along at a nice pace, stopping for water every few miles. I felt like I would finish with no problem, maybe even a personal record. The weather was perfect. The crowd was jubilant. I felt confident in my training and in my choice of dinner and activity the previous night, especially the cake.

In a race as long as a marathon, I always start to get hungry around the halfway point. I considered stopping for one of my gels. I was used to them but for some reason today they seemed so unappetizing. When the hunger became strong enough that I had no choice, though, I paused to fish one out of my shorts pocket.

In that moment I smelled cake. I glanced up to see I’d stopped in front of a patisserie and several of the spectators held sweet confections in their hands. It seemed a cruel joke, a bakery at this point along the marathon route. The sweet scent of kirschtorte reached me. My dick twitch. I saw her. The woman who’d granted my cake wish stood in the crowd, eating the kirschtorte, a bit of cream smeared across her lips. She saw me and smiled. Suddenly my dick became hard and I could think of nothing else but wanting those cream-smeared lips around my cock.

Discipline. I ran another couple miles, my dick surprisingly hard for the amount of exertion I was using the rest of my body for. When I arrived at a bank of portable toilets, I ducked into one. I raised my hand to my face. I hadn’t showered that morning so my fingers still smelled slightly of the sugar and my cum from last night, erasing the odor of the urine and shit from the marathoners that had already used that toilet. I closed my eyes and again I thought of her large eyes and blushing cheeks, this time with the bit of cream on her lips, imagining them sucking me hard, then me licking the sweet cream and cum off of them. When I came I imagined coming over her breasts then dusting them with powdered sugar and licking them clean.

I continued on with the race, determined to find that café again fulfill all my Kuchen Wunsch that evening.

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Sun

“She could feel the sun penetrating even into her bones; nay, farther, even
into her emotions, her thoughts.” – D.H. Lawrence, Sun

I stared at the slightness of her shoulders. She’d put the sunscreen on my back already, sloppy, like a child rushing through a chore before going out to play. I’m certain she missed a spot. It didn’t matter, though.

The thick white cream had a slightly floral scent. I rubbed her shoulders, marveling how one of my hands completely covered one of her shoulder blades. I rubbed slowly, deep. She sat stone still. This was sunscreen only, a practicality, nothing more to her. This was my opportunity to touch the skin on her back but I’d get no response.

I moved slowly across the back of her neck, remembering kissing that exact spot late last night. I moved down, slipping my fingers underneath the tie of her bikini top that stretched across her pale back. She loved the sun but preferred to stay pale. She worshipped the sun. She knew I hated so much heat and brightness but she brought me along on these beach holidays for exact this purpose. Lotion application.

My fingers slipped along the string to the side of one breast, exposed by a tiny triangle of fabric that only just covered her nipple. She willed herself to stay still, to not let her body betray anything. She might let me get away with a little fun but I shouldn’t push it. One finger strayed across her nipple. It tightened and hardened at my touch but her face didn’t flinch. Behind the sunglasses, under the large-brimmed hat, what the world could see of her face was as white and immoveable as marble.

“That will do,” she announced a moment later. I shifted back to my own towel and watched her lie down. Stretched and ready for the sun to work its magic on her. I was jealous of the sun. I didn’t want it watching her. I didn’t want anything or anyone but me watching her. In that bikini, though, plenty of other beach-goers would see. I hated that she brought me to the public beach. I had to watch others steal furtive glances at her all day long. Some would outright stare. And why shouldn’t they? She intentionally put herself on display for the sun and the vacationers to view.

I fidgeted on my towel. I’d forgotten a book but I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on it anyway. It was too hot. My forehead was slick with sweat and sunscreen. Even with sunglasses on the glare from the water gave me a headache. I reached for a water bottle and drank deeply from it. Icy droplets fell on my chest. I briefly considered flicking some of the cold condensation droplets across her stomach but I gave up that thought as quickly as it entered my mind. She wasn’t that kind of playful.

“Go take a swim,” she murmured, followed by the lazy sigh she always let out just before she fell asleep. There was nothing for me to do except follow her order.

The water was beautiful, clear and blue, but not at all refreshing. It was a warm bath on a hot day. I swam, though. I swam out as far from the beach as I could. The shallow water in the cove remained too warm. I didn’t know if the moisture on my forehead was sweat or saltwater spray. I turned and looked back at the beach. By the bright color of our beach towels I could pick her out easily. Such a crowded fucking beach and I knew her well enough to know she really was dozing contentedly under the gaze of everyone. Including the sun.

I put my feet up and floated on my back in the saltwater. She wouldn’t be ready for me yet. As I bobbed I thought about what would happen later but I didn’t dare touch myself, despite how much my body needed and wanted it. She would know.

I imagined her sun-heated body lounging on the cool, crisp bed linens in our cabana. Trees in the garden casting the room in shade, windows open with a warm tropical breeze blowing in. She liked to lick the saltwater from my skin. The scenario sustained me, kept me afloat. Distracted me from her display on the beach. She would be all mine.

Several hours later I confirmed that she did miss a spot with the sunscreen. Searing pain on my back when I showered. A white handprint surrounded by scorching red skin. I could see the imprint of her fingertips curling slightly around my waist. She held onto me always.

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Wicked Wednesday 1: Coach

It’s not on prompt but it’s been on my mind all day.

On my run this morning I slipped in some mud and it reminded me of another time I slipped in mud. It was my first run with my college coach. He was 25, fresh out of grad school. He was handsome. He wore a Louder Than Bombs t-shirt. I was 19, happy to run any distance he could set for me, and I was the only person on the team to recognize his shirt. We connected instantly.

For some reason I’d missed his first run with the whole team so he and I went out on our own a few days later. I wasn’t the fastest on the team but I could run the farthest distance. He wanted to see how far I could go. Around the ten-mile mark I took an amazing dive and was covered in mud. I was mortified. I was so uncool in front of this guy. He laughed, helped me up, and made sure I wasn’t injured. We were close to the school so we called it a day.

We had a scorching affair. Or an awkward one. Or one that ended badly. Or we lived happily ever after together.

Nothing happened between us. He was engaged to a woman he couldn’t stand, but wouldn’t break up with because they had been together so long. I was dating my way through the best runners on the men’s team. I was too naive to do anything about my attraction to Coach.

Or so I thought. After I graduated, teammates started asking me if Coach and I had been having an affair. I was surprised by the questions and rumors. At first I thought they were joking. “Seriously?” people said. “He spent more time with you than with anyone, including his fiancée.” I had no idea. I was clueless. Our close relationship as friends and our mutual love of running, the same music, and the same sports teams had led people to believe we were more than coach and athlete. We stayed up late having long talks in his office. When the team traveled we almost always sat together on the bus and in restaurants. It’s difficult for me to say now whether there were romantic overtones to our friendship back then or if my memory is altered because I want there to be.

I went to a Catholic college. I was no longer Catholic so sex as a sin wasn’t really on my personal radar anymore. It mattered to some of my friends, though, that the thought of Coach even crossed my mind a few times. At 19 so many of us are still carrying the marriage and monogamy ideal around and if you did anything to stray from the party line, it didn’t matter if you weren’t Catholic. The names still hurt.

Years later it was confirmed by my friends on the men’s team that Coach had been in love with me then and remained so for several years afterward. After I graduated our timing was always off. He was engaged or I was seriously dating someone. We were both single but living on different coasts. The crestfallen look on his face when I introduced him to my husband broke my heart a little.

I don’t regret not doing anything with Coach when I had the chance. Sometimes, though, on days like today when a memory of him comes back so strong, I do wonder what might have happened.

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