I looked at the open card in my hands—the inside plain except for a few words scrawled in a childish hand: To Auntie Marj. Love from Stephen.

She had kept them all. Every birthday, every hastily written note, each small token of childhood affection had been tucked away, saved with quiet care. And now, in the wake of her absence, she had left them to me—along with her written account of our hike and a cloth-bound bundle that carried the weight of memory.

Marj had been Mum's best friend, not a relative by blood, but that never mattered in the days when titles were shaped by love rather than lineage. With my parents, she was Auntie Marj, a fixture in my world. But things shifted one summer when I was twenty—when the boundaries of childhood blurred, and my final season of innocence came to an end.

I remember that summer with a clarity that feels borrowed from dreams: the dust-swirled paths through the hills, the scent of heather and sun-warmed grass, and the way the light hung long and golden in the evenings. Marj had come with me on that hike because, she said, "It's time you saw the world from a little higher up." I thought she meant the view. I did not realise that she meant something else entirely.

We hiked around the New Forest, and she seduced me. I have never forgotten how she kissed me while I lay on the grass in a sunny glade. I was looking up at the blue sky when her face filled my vision, her lips touched mine, and her tongue thrust into my mouth.

My cock hardened, and I felt her hand fondling it through my clothes while we kissed. Her rubbing became firmer, and I felt a surge of pleasure down below. I had no sexual experience, so it was all new and wonderful for me. Suddenly, I ejaculated in my underpants. She asked me if it was nice, and I mumbled a reply, but I was embarrassed by the sudden and premature ending.

Later I told Marj I wanted to make love to her, and that night, in her tiny tent, I fucked her properly. The following day, I had my first blow job, and I felt my sperm shoot inside her mouth, then watched her swallow the lot.

But, as we stood at the Rufus Stone, she made it clear our sexual relationship was over and never to be spoken of again.

._.

In September, two months after the hike, I started my first job as a trainee, the lowest of the low, despite my degree. My introduction to the world of work was smoothed by a colleague. Gillian was the receptionist, three years my junior by age but much more worldly. She had long blonde tresses hanging down her back and a lovely pair of tits, usually enhanced by a tight sweater. We quickly became friends and then dated. In the New Year, on the carpet of her parents lounge, I fucked her.

We married two years later, and she gave birth to two baby girls in quick succession. Life was good, and our home was filled with love. Aunty Marj became our first-choice babysitter, and she was always a reliable friend, with never a hint of what had passed between us.

If things had stayed the same, if fate had not intervened, my story would be of little interest to anyone. The moment time was warped came at a family wedding. We stayed at the venue hotel overnight, as the girls were old enough to have their own room and were excited by this more than the occasion.

Our family life was fun and loving, but one area lacked something. Gillian had gradually gone off sex. Her life revolved around the girls, and I was a distinct second. Most of the time, I was not bothered because late at night, I would stay awake, then settle down with one of my sex magazines and put a porn tape into the VCR to watch on the television. It was not as satisfying as fucking my wife, but it did the job.

._.

When I married Gillian, our reception was a nod to tradition—an old-fashioned sit-down meal. Afterwards, we moved through the crowd, exchanging smiles and gratitude before slipping away in my car, bound for a posh hotel in Bournemouth to begin our honeymoon.

This one, though, was different—modern in its style. The meal gave way to an evening disco, where the newlyweds swayed and spun under flashing lights, dancing deep into the night before retiring to the bridal suite in the late evening.

The whole family was invited, spanning generations, and among them was Aunty Marj. She sat alone, a widow in her early sixties, watching the festivities with a quiet grace. Uncle Bill had passed several years before, leaving her with memories and a presence that never faded away.

At around ten, Gillian took the girls to bed, saying she would stay upstairs for the night. My parents left soon after, and then it was just Marj and me lingering at our table in the warmth of the evening.

I was considering heading upstairs myself when Marj stood, extending her hand toward me—an invitation. She led me onto the dance floor, and we jived and twisted with carefree abandon, both well-oiled and light with laughter. Now and then, we retreated to our table, refilling our glasses, and sipped more wine before returning to the rhythm.

During the slower numbers, we swayed together, her head resting against my shoulder. The soft trace of her perfume hung in the air between us, and I felt the quiet, undeniable presence of her body pressed against me—familiar yet different in a way I could not quite name.

Fate twisted at five to midnight as Tom Jones crooned his famous hit, The Last Dance. We shuffled through the throng, bodies pressing close, the rhythm slow and intoxicating.

Then—darkness.

The lights cut out, and around us, couples melted into each other, the air thick with whispered words and lingering touches. Some kissed, and some snogged without restraint. In the midst of it all, Marj curled her arms around my neck, and her fingers slipped through my hair before pressing insistently downward. My face dipped—her upturned gaze locked onto mine. The pressure was steady and unwavering, and I let go.

Our lips met, and her tongue slipped past mine with a familiarity that sent a jolt through me—just as it had fourteen years ago.

Without the quiet presence of my wife and parents at my side, I surrendered to her embrace, losing myself in her for the length of the song. Two minutes that stretched into something bigger, something unresolved.

Then, as the final bars faded and the lights flickered back to life, I exhaled, reached for my jacket, and slipped it over my shoulders. I turned toward the stairs, toward the reality waiting upstairs—but Marj was not ready to let go.

She snatched the near-full bottle of wine from our table, plucked two glasses in one swift motion, and took my hand, guiding me toward the terrace.

Marj did not stop there. She led me down a flight of steps onto a grass path, where low-level lights flickered softly, marking the way ahead. Hand in hand, we moved further from the hotel, the darkness folding around us. Shrubs pressed in from either side, their leaves grazing my face as we walked, the sound of distant laughter fading behind us.

At one point, we veered sharply, making a ninety-degree turn. I glanced back, but there was nothing to see—only the faint glow of path lights, barely enough to trace where we had been.

Then, I sensed a shift in space, a quiet transition. We passed beneath an archway, and, as if summoned, the lights came on around us. We stood in an open-air chamber, hemmed in by tumbledown brick walls. Gothic window openings framed the night, an arrow slit cutting a narrow glance toward the world beyond. In the centre, modern garden furniture stood in contrast—an armchair, a sofa, and a table.

Marj turned to me, her eyes catching the light, and explained: a folly built for the hotel guests. Sensors controlled the glow that now bathed us. She led me to the sofa, where we sank into its cushions, the weight of the night settling around us.

She poured two glasses of the ruby red wine, offering one to me. I lifted it and took a single sip—but before I could lower it again, she took the glass from my hand, set it gently on the table, and then leaned in. Her arms wove around my neck, pulling me into a kiss—long, slow, unrestrained. Wet and familiar, filled with something remembered and something new.

Marj's arms tightened around me, and her kiss deepened as our tongues intertwined. The warmth of her body seeped into mine, and the taste of the wine lingered on her lips. The soft lighting cast an intimate glow, making it feel as though we were the only two people in the world. The glasses of wine on the table were forgotten, and the room filled with the intensity of our embrace.

My hands explored her body, cupping her breasts, and Marj gasped softly as my hands gently squeezed her soft flesh. Her response to the intimacy of my touch was to press closer; her hands moved to my chest, and her fingers traced patterns across my body. The fabric of her dress felt silky beneath my palms, and I felt the rapid beat of her heart. Her kisses became more urgent, and she gently guided me to lie back on the sofa, and her body moved gracefully over mine.

Marj's face hovered above me, a silhouette of shadows, with her hair catching the soft glow of the soft lighting. Her eyes glistened, filled with desire, and bore into mine as my hands explored her body, the softness of her breasts fitting perfectly in my palms. She responded with a gentle moan, her hands now more urgent as they travelled over my body, unbuttoning my shirt and unbuckling my trousers.

The sofa creaked slightly under the weight of our passion.

As her fingers deftly unzipped my trousers, my underpants lifted up, pushed by my aroused shaft. Her touch was tender, a reminder of the passion we had fourteen years ago. She paused, her eyes searching mine for confirmation. I felt the weight of the years lifted from my shoulders, and in that moment, I was, once more, a carefree twenty-year-old.

Marj whispered, "I want you, Stephen." Her voice was a seductive purr that sent a thrill down my spine. She straddled me, her dress riding up to reveal her thighs. I felt the warmth of her mound pressing against my arousal, and she rocked her hips gently, leaving no doubt about her intentions.

She took my hand and placed it between her legs, guiding me to the wetness that awaited. Her eyes never left mine, the connection between us palpable. The surroundings seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us in a bubble of desire.

Marj gasped as my fingers traced the edge of her panties, the fabric damp with her arousal. I felt the heat emanating from her, and her body begged for my touch. Her hands gripped my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin. I lifted the hem of her dress further, revealing the wet fabric clinging to her sex. The scent of her desire filled the air. She rocked her hips, urging my hand to delve further, whimpering as my digits explored her most sensitive spots. Her hips began to buck, and her breath came in quick gasps.

Marj's body tensed as I crooked two of my fingers and pressed into her, feeling the wet warmth of her inner walls. She gasped, and her nails dug deeper into my shoulders. Her hips began to rock back and forth, riding the wave of pleasure I was giving her. I felt the muscles of her sex clench around my fingers, and her movements grew more erratic. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, and she threw her head back, the soft light playing off the beads of sweat on her skin. Her orgasm built, and her body tightened around my fingers until she finally cried out, her body convulsing in pleasure.

Her body responded to my intimate touch, and her hand pressed my wrist down against my erect shaft. As she convulsed in the throes of her orgasm, the sensation of my hand against my cock was almost an invitation to enter her. Her movements became more deliberate, and her hips ground against my hand, seeking to replicate the feeling of being filled. Her eyes locked onto me, and I could see raw desire and need reflected in her gaze. She rode out her climax, her body trembling with the force of her release. As she came down from the peak, we were both left panting and craving more.

I whispered to her, "Take me, just like before."

Her eyes widened with a mix of surprise and excitement at my whispered words. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear, and said, "Just like before?"

The question was filled with a promise that sent a shiver down my spine. Marj reached down to stroke my erection, her hand moving with the same familiar rhythm that I remembered. I felt her shift her weight, her thighs parting slightly, and then she moved to straddle me fully. The fabric of her panties was damp with anticipation, and she slid them aside. With a sultry smile, she lowered herself onto me, taking me inside her with a slow, deliberate ease. Our bodies fit together like they were made for this; the years of separation melted away. The sofa sighed beneath us as we began to move in sync, the space's ambience setting the stage for the rekindling of a passion thought lost to time.

Marj gasped as my hips surged into her, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. Her walls tightened around me, and I felt the warm embrace of her body as she adjusted to my length. She threw her head back, and I saw shadows dancing across her face. She ground down onto me, setting a pace that was both fierce and sensual. The sound of our bodies colliding filled the space, raw, wet, smacking.

Marj took control; her hips rose and fell in a steady rhythm that I submitted to. Her movements were demanding; each stroke sent waves of pleasure through my cock head. I felt her wetness enveloping me, her inner muscles contracting around my shaft as she took me in deeper. Her eyes never left mine. The room was alive with the sounds of our passion—the slap of skin, the rustle of fabric, the occasional clink of the wine glasses on the table. The lights cast a warm, flickering glow across her face, highlighting the intensity of her expression. Her hands gripped the edge of the sofa, knuckles white with the effort of holding herself in place as she fucked me.

I returned her gaze, panting the words out, "I want to fill you."

Marj's eyes widened in excitement. Her pace increased, her movements more frenzied as she felt me getting closer to climax.

She leaned in, her breath hot against my neck, and whispered, "Do it, Stephen. Give it to me."

Her voice was a mix of demand and desperation, a call that I could not resist.

With a final, powerful thrust, I felt my semen race up and flood into Marj. Her walls contracted around me, milking me of every drop as she cried out in ecstasy, her orgasm triggered by the warmth of my seed flooding her cunt. We collapsed against each other, the sofa sagging in protest under the weight of our spent passion. Our breathing was ragged, and the scent of sex was thick in the air.

My hands glided over Marj's back, feeling the contours of her body, tracing the path of her spine down to her hips, which were still moving with the aftershocks of her climax. She sighed contentedly and relaxed into me, her body slack with satisfaction. Her grip on the cushions loosened, and she rested her head on my chest, her breathing gradually evening out.

She lifted her head and smiled softly, her gaze locking onto mine as she gently shifted her position while still straddling me. The fabric of her dress was damp with sweat, clinging to her skin, and the warmth of her body radiated into me. It was quiet, the two of us in a soft, intimate embrace. The wine glasses stood on the table, untouched and forgotten during our lovemaking.

As I grasped the back of Marj's head and pulled her down for a kiss, she willingly surrendered to the passionate embrace. Her lips were soft and warm against mine, and the taste of wine still lingered between us.

Her body shifted slightly, and her hips moved in a gentle, languid rhythm. Her breathing was still rapid, her breasts pressed into my chest with each inhale. My shaft, still semi-hard, twitched at the intimate contact.

I broke our kiss and wondered how we could be together again. Can I cheat on my wife? Can I cheat on someone who does not want to be my lover?

The words tumbled out of me, "Marj, I want to be with you, but I cannot see how."

Marj pulled away from the kiss, looking into my eyes with a mix of concern and curiosity. She stroked my cheek, her thumb brushing over my stubble. Her breathing was still heavy, and the room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for my response.

"Stephen," she said, her voice a soft whisper that carried the weight of our shared secret. "What can we do?"

Her eyes searched mine for an answer, and the unspoken question hung in the air like a sword. I swallowed hard as the reality of the situation sunk in. Marj's expression shifted to one of understanding, tinged with sadness.

She took my hand in hers and whispered, "I know what you're feeling, Stephen. The past can be a powerful pull. But we can't let it consume us."

She stood up gracefully, the damp fabric of her dress sticking against her skin as she moved away from the sofa. With a soft sigh, she poured the remaining wine in her glass down her throat.

Marj turned to face me, her expression a tapestry of emotions, a picture of beauty tinged with melancholy. Her eyes held a spark of hope mixed with a heavy dose of reality.

"A future with me, Stephen?" she asked, her voice filled with a gentle scepticism.

"I am over sixty years old. You have a life, a wife, and a young family. "This", she waved a hand around the space, "is a folly, a reminder of what once was."

She stepped close to me, her hand reaching out to touch my cheek.

"But I understand," she continued, her voice softer, "your heart wants what it wants, and my heart wants it too."

Her hand slid down to my chest, feeling the rhythm of my heart. "We can't change the past, but we can make memories in the present."

Our lips touched, and our tongues danced one more time. Then, we linked hands and walked out of the folly.