We first kissed in high school, when we were 18. A Friday night in the summer, cheap wine flowing through our blood, and both of our hormones whipped to their limits by puberty. She had beautiful, full breasts, and she was an amazing kisser. I can still remember the sound she made when she kissed. And even the smell of her. Sweet, full, vanilla.

We hadn’t seen each other in twenty years. Aside from the occasional glimpse of her new photos on Facebook, I knew nothing about her. Until our class reunion.

The girls, now women, looked the same to me as they had in high school. But she didn’t. She looked even more beautiful. Light makeup, beautiful auburn hair, and a tight dress that accentuated her breasts, even bigger than I remembered.

As the evening progressed, I found myself next to her. We talked as casually as if we had just left school yesterday. From the beginning of our conversation, I could feel her warmth and perfume. I could also feel her glances, which she threw at me from time to time. During our conversation, she visibly licked her red lips with her tongue here and there, and I, whether I wanted to or not, could not take my eyes off them. Not only from them, but also from her. She was as close as she had been then, during that summer night.

The company was slowly dissolving and I was also getting tired of sitting in the restaurant. I suggested that I would have to go now, and asked her if she would go too. I had time, so I offered to walk her home if she wanted. During the conversation, I learned that she was married, had a family, and lived not far from the place where we had met.

“I’d love to go together. I really like walking, but with the kids, there’s no time for that. Milan, my husband, isn’t much for walks either,” she added, as if in passing, but her voice carried sadness, even resignation.

We went out into the summer night. The time on her cell phone showed a little after ten. Considering it was the weekend, there were few people in the city. Maybe it was the route we took together. She led us outside the busy main center, through quiet streets and small parks.

“You know, when we were supposed to meet after such a long time, I remembered… Hmm, I don’t know if you remember that summer evening we spent together,” I said quietly, mentally thanking the gentle darkness, which made it less obvious that I was blushing.

She stopped at those words and looked at me with her big brown eyes. She just stared at me for a moment and then said quietly:

“Me too. I remembered it too. Let me tell you something else. I often think about that night we spent together. Even though we were young and it only lasted that one night, it was important to me. And… it still is. Sometimes, when my husband only takes me out of obligation… Or when I had friends before him and sex with them wasn’t worth much… Then, just like now, I close my eyes and go back to our kissing. To your hands on my breasts, to your tongue in my mouth, to your body pressed against mine. It turns me on instantly and then even the not-so-good sex with my husband can be survived.”

She fell silent, lowered her eyes and looked at the ground, as if she herself was surprised by the courage with which she had told me all this.