Remember the Time When...

Faye is extremely nostalgic.  She reminisces about high school crushes, undergrad fucks, the smell of our AP Literature classroom.  When gas was 97 cents, the $4 teriyaki wings from the gas station near Marteen’s house.  Homecoming games, Sonic strawberry slushees with blue coconut add-in, Acrylic nails with rhinestones and a different design on each finger.

I always yell at her to stop.  To let all that shit go and focus on now.  The truth is I actually admire her ability to recall the past and not become overwhelmed with despair.

If I were to become nostalgic, my thoughts would not include high school dances or driving through our hometown at 2am looking for an open Taco Bell to consume our munchies.

My thoughts would cause my clit to tingle, my nipples to harden, the pace of my breath to quicken.

They would be thoughts of getting fucked in the dressing room of Express.  The sound of high heels approaching.  The knock on the door followed by Becky asking, “Ma’am are you ok in there?”

It would be the thought of getting my pussy eaten by the skinny yet charismatic Kappa.  The purple pillow he shoved into my mouth to stifle the sounds of ecstasy.

The sweet smell of Issey Miyaki. 

Or the night Ben came over after the Champagne Jam and fucked me until I begged for him to stop. 

The time Jerome inserted his fingers into my wet pussy on the dance floor as his main squeeze sat at the bar waiting for his return.

It would be thoughts of grinding on Carl's erect dick while Bobby Valentino sang “Slow Down”.

Skipping class to flirt with J.B. in the SBA office. 

Being young and fast but discreet with every sexual encounter. 

I have absolutely no regrets, but nowadays these thoughts only open the floodgates to wet panties in class.

So no more nostalgia and no more flashbacks.