The Homecoming

It was homecoming weekend at our alma mater, and we were there. Since our youngest is a student at “our school,” we thought we would attend.

We got there Friday night in time for the pep rally and bonfire. On Saturday, we attended the homecoming parade, alumni gathering on the campus green, and football game. After dinner with our student-daughter, who then excused herself for a night with friends, we decided to walk the campus.

Our relationship had started in the spring of our senior year. By that time, we had one foot still on campus and the other foot in the real world. We had not really know each other as students.

As we walked the campus hand-in-hand on that dark, moon-filled, silent Saturday evening, I thought about what it may have been like if we had met earlier in school. Maybe we would have stayed together. Maybe we would have gone separate directions.

“How come we never met earlier in school?” I asked my wife.

“Because you were not lucky earlier,” she replied.

Fair enough.

We kept walking, winding our way past the Student Union, which I was familiar with, and the library, which I should have become MORE familiar with. We passed dorms and the athletic complex, finally finding ourselves in the center of the campus with buildings on every side. Trees with their colorful autumn leaves and light posts lined the four sidewalks that intersected at the center.

I stopped in the middle of the crossroads and pulled my wife close, facing her. She looked at me, wondering was to come.

Then I kissed her, long and with great passion. My wife returned the favor; our tongues seemingly touching each other’s souls.

Finally we pulled apart, and she looked at me.

“What brought that on?” she asked.

“Because I wanted to.”

“That may be the best kiss you ever gave me on campus.”

“Getting better with age,” I said.

My wife then pulled me closed and whispered in my ear. “We have never made love on campus,” she said, rubbing my arms. “Should we try?”

Shockingly, I did NOT say no.

Now the question was where?

We looked around at the dark, empty buildings that surrounded the green. There seemed to be no useable site.

Then we saw it at the south end of the green — the half-shell concrete university amphitheater. It was more 60 years old and had been the home of hundreds of events, including graduations (like ours) and that day’s homecoming activities.

Hand in hand, we walked quickly to the amphitheater and climbed the steps. On the stage, we turned to look out towards the north end of the campus, watching the lights along the walks reach up to the stars in the sky.

Such a scene only increased our desire for each other. We retreated into the dark and I pushed her against the wall where our kissing intensified.

I slipped my hand inside her leggings and between her legs, rubbing her middle. My wife returned the favor by stroking the bulge in my pants.

Finally we came up for air. My wife looked at me and whispered, “How do you want me?”

The question, posed in her soft voice, aroused me even more. But how?

As we looked around in the dark for something to use, we found a table in the back of the stage. We positioned the table in the center of the stage so it was shrouded in the darkness, but where we could still see the campus green.

I allowed my wife to determine how she wanted to proceed. She went to one side of the table, kicked off her shoes and removed her leggings, naked from the waist down.

She bent across the table, looking out to the green. “This way,” she whispered.

I followed suit, removing pants and footwear. I  walked up behind my wife, pulled her up, nuzzling her neck, and using my hands to explore the fertile, damp area between her legs.

Moaning softly, she reached one hand behind and began to stroke my erected shaft. I gasped at her touch.

Once again, my wife bent over the table, feet slightly apart. I moved closer to her. She took ahold of my erection and slid it into her.

The feeling of making love to my wife that way was breathtaking. I could see out to the green as I pushed all the way into her, not moving. She gripped the other end of the table as she also looked out towards the campus.

I softly rubbed her shoulders, and I felt her legs start to tremble. I began to slowly move back and forth in her, being deliberate in my slow strokes.

As my wife started to become overcome by the intensity of the passion, she took a firmer hold of the table, dropped her head, and began to take shorter breaths.

I could feel the love stream rise in me. I started to move with shorter, quicker, penetrating strokes.

Her legs stiffened and her hands became rigid as the passion roared through her. She softly moaned as she reached climax.

That was enough to push me over to the edge, resulting in a long stream flowing into her. I heard myself softly cry out as well, my eyes still looking out towards the campus.

We stood there for what seemed minutes as we caught our breath and our balance. I slipped out of her and helped steady her as she rose.

We quickly put ourselves back together the best we could, moved the table back to its previous location, softly kissed one more time, and exited stage left.

It was still silent, and the campus green was still empty. Still feeling the rush from the ecstasy of the moment, we held hands in silent contemplation as we walked.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” my wife finally said.

“You ok with it?”

My wife chuckled. “Of course. But I’ll be thinking about this night when our daughter walks across that same stage someday to receive her diploma.”

So will I.