Continuing her reflection on the life she'd been given: In addition to its richness, measured in any way, Sara owed Sammy her life. She'd have died a bitter old woman centuries earlier if not for his gift of Immortality. Of course, Sara had been grateful beyond her ability to express herself seriously. So she'd joked that Immortality may have exceeded her first orgasm as her best gift ever, only because it would allow her to enjoy so many more Forever!
But as per the mantra expressed many times throughout The Word of God, which she'd learned from Sammy and long since adopted as her own: Forever was a very long time. And to survive 'Forever' and not join Eve on the rocks and crashing waves beneath the cliff, Sara had discovered that she needed periodic breaks. Changes of scenery, new adventures, experiences, and new lovers to pleasure and have it returned, none of which she'd intended to cause Sammy pain. It pained her that her actions had, but she'd determined that she needed her wanderlusts for her survival, and the pain they caused would be considerably less than having another dead wife to mourn. After spending time away, she would return, always, as promised, rejuvenated and anxious to continue her effort to heal Sammy's broken heart and damaged soul, including any additional harm caused by her absence and behavior.
Some of those actions clearly caused more significant damage than others, even if unintended. Maybe Sara should have known better, but she'd thought it would be funny and fun; it had been both. She'd had no way to foresee the harm those few minutes, an hour at most, would cause, nor did she believe she would ever understand why what she'd done had turned out to be such a significant damned issue, what they did, since she wasn't alone. But it had been her idea.
A joke. That was all it was, a practical joke that she played on a mutual friend – who she knew enjoyed it as much as she did herself, even if he never did comprehend or appreciate the joke. Sara did understand why he may have found that confusing. It had been her birthday, supposedly, by their accounting, her twenty-fourth, three years into her unofficial Immortality. But she'd since determined that she was more likely no more than twenty, which had been the whole point of her joke, even if it turned out she'd been the only one in on it. The Professor and Sammy had both assumed she'd celebrated her twentieth birthday four years earlier when the Professor would have immediately understood the joke and greatly appreciated the gesture. He'd admitted, knowing that her sense of humor was as twisted as his old man's perverted fantasies, that earlier evening, as he'd laid awake in anticipation. But, four years later, her sassy declaration that she had a brand new twenty-year-old piece of ass had been lost in the moment. They'd both enjoyed themselves and one another, and he'd been grateful for her gesture, even if it had arrived a few years late. But it wasn't as though she'd aged beyond his preference. Sara still appeared as she had on her supposed twenty-first birthday, the day she was finally allowed to choose Immortality, which only she suspected was closer to her eighteenth.
She nearly forgot it happened when she woke beside Sammy the following morning. Then she and the recipient of her gesture caught one another's eyes over coffee and shared a private smile. She'd giggled. She thought it was funny. She still thought it should have been funny. She also thought it insignificant at the time. It hadn't been that big a deal. They'd had fun, but that was all it had been, two friends having fun. She thought the inevitability should have been obvious. She was surprised it took them that long. They'd been openly flirtatious and affectionate for years. He'd made his off-color assessments of her beauty since the day they met, always with the best of intentions, he'd assured her.
How was the Professor supposed to react when met at the door by a beautiful and mischievous horny little imp, who was naked, still smelled of sex, and seemed to have little else on her mind? And since she'd refused to wear clothes since her arrival at Sammy's home, the Professor and his three young guests had decided to join in her nudity. The differences in the girls' nether grooming practices had immediately incited an open and salacious discussion of the benefits of bald hoo-hahs, particularly during cunnilingus.
And Sara, having chosen to join the sisterhood of the bald hoo-hah, had entertained the various suggestions and offers of who might best demonstrate those benefits. There was even a discussion about one of the Professor's young lady guests giving Sara head right there on the sofa, had there not? When they'd suggested the Professor as a candidate, he'd immediately insisted it would be best for Sammy to provide that demonstration.
So Sara impatiently dragged Sammy down the hall since he'd refused to conduct the demonstration with witnesses, for which she'd have been open. She then provided their guests with a loud and varied chorus of appreciation for Sammy's 'private' demonstration of the benefits of her newly bald hoo-hah only a few rooms down the hallway from where they'd waited.
And what was the Professor to do as he'd watched her transform over the next few years from a beautiful naked imp, possibly jailbait, to an irresistible magnificent beast? Was he to have chased away his natural attraction and chastised himself for all his unbidden erotic dreams in which it would have been unreasonable to expect her not to play the starring role?
And what was the Professor to do, awakened from one such dream to find those fantasies fulfilled in reality? Finding that magnificent beast of his dreams naked in his bed, with his cock in her mouth, was he to have said, "No. Please stop."
According to Sammy, that was precisely what he would have expected when learning what had transpired nearly five centuries after the fact. Sammy had confessed many times that he should have had more self-control in nearly identical circumstances. But the truth was, neither of them had. They were both only men, waking caught unaware in a moment of intense physical desire or pleasure, nearly impossible to differentiate from the erotic dreams they'd been enjoying, or so they'd claimed. And in the Professor's case, that naked magnificent sexual beast of his fantasies had begged him, "Fuck me hard! Sammy never wants to fuck me hard! I want to hear your flesh slap against my ass!"
That was the first time she and the Professor had sex, but hardly the last. At least once every visit after that, the Professor awoke to find Sara repeating her earlier performance. Or they'd 'inadvertently' cross paths near the waterfall and decide to take a naked dip in the pool, then slip back behind the falls to her secret hideaway, where one thing led to another. There'd been plenty of other opportunities to spend a few minutes alone in a huge mansion with multiple wings of unoccupied rooms and a sprawling estate with scores of secluded spots. And, in years to come, Sara would occasionally seek him out, or her wanderlusts and his pursuit of twenty-year-old ass would unexpectedly intersect.
The sexual tension between Sara and the Professor had been palpable from the beginning, and she'd believed it transparent. It seemed unreasonable, especially given that both were uninhibitedly sexual beings, to assume that they wouldn't eventually act upon their mutual attraction.
Both had assumed Sammy knew, had to have been aware, but decided not to acknowledge or discuss it, which was his nature with such things. Sara thought he must have been aware of her slipping from his bed in the middle of the night or early in the morning. Or not joining him until far later than usual. Did he believe she'd only gone for a solitary midnight swim beneath the waterfall? Or stayed late in the gazebo, listening to the ocean, perhaps sharing a glass of wine and friendly conversation with the Professor? The guestroom where the Professor had generally stayed when he'd visited was well away from the bedroom Sara and Sammy shared. That had been done intentionally, years earlier, long before Sara's presence became a consideration, to provide the Professor privacy with the young guests who'd always accompanied him. Eve had insisted she didn't want to hear him rutting with his rotating teenage harem. Still, Sara was loud and never made an effort not to be. She wasn't doing anything she felt the need to hide, any more than when she pleasured herself with Sammy alongside her in bed. Could it be possible he'd never heard them?
The fact was, Sara had never believed she'd been doing anything wrong. She still didn't think they'd done anything wrong. And she'd always been open and honest about having sex with other people on her wanderlusts, which began centuries before the confrontation in question. That was the point of her wanderlusts. And, certainly, since her second, she'd encouraged Sammy to have some fun himself while she was away. That he'd never wanted to discuss her adventures only reinforced her sense that he wouldn't want to discuss her relationship and activities with the Professor. But he had to know. How could he not?
Sara thought the Professor's sexual interest in her would have equally been presumed. "Any teenager born with a cunt," had been Eve's pronouncement. The Professor had shared that recollection with unapologetic pride. Along with his mistaken assessment the morning of her supposed twentieth birthday, when she'd been a disappointing no-show, "Sara isn't a teenager anymore, but she can still pass for one, as she always will." The assumption being that Sammy would make good on his promise on her birthday a year later. Sara and the Professor believed it had been all but the declaration, "Sammy, I want to fuck that girl." Which had met with no objection. Wasn't that practically the same as permission?
She'd never hidden her interest in the Professor. She'd mentioned the possibility of a threesome on multiple occasions, Sammy apparently assuming that she'd only been joking and had either laughed or ignored the suggestion entirely. She hadn't been joking, and she'd gone on her second wanderlust, specifically seeking that experience.
Sara thought Sammy's reaction when he'd learned about the Professor and herself had been unfortunate and unnecessary. It had torn an unrepairable rift through their lives, all three of them. It was ridiculous that it had continued so long with no effort or intention of reconciliation. That needed to end, Sara decided, and she was determined for that to happen, no matter how stubborn and plain stupid Sammy could sometimes insist on being. Especially since the fault had been her own, if there'd been fault to assign. Or minimally equal shares. But Sammy could never place the blame on or direct his anger toward her, perhaps for fear that she'd leave and not return. Still, if there needed to be someone to blame, it was her.
Even if Sara had never believed they'd done anything wrong, perhaps, if she'd said something at the time, if she'd told Sammy the following morning, "Hey, I pulled a practical joke on the Professor. I have a brand new twenty-year-old ass, and I know how much he loves them. Isn't that funny? Oh, that's right! I figured out; I only turned twenty yesterday, not four years ago. So, I was eighteen when I became Immortal, which means I was only fifteen when..."
Instead, the truth, at least that of their sexual involvement, slipped out during a casual conversation on the evening of Sammy's five-hundredth birthday. Centuries after whatever sin she and the Professor had supposedly committed, somehow making it appear all that much worse as if it was some inadvertent guilty confession with moral compound interest added atop as a late fee. Sara had never considered there'd been anything to confess. Maybe she should have said something; she would acknowledge that much. But had she known the result of it, she'd never have said a word. She'd have locked that secret deep inside, never to be revealed. And she'd have sworn the Professor to secrecy as well. Some truths weren't worth the pain they caused, even when that pain seemed senseless and beyond her comprehension.
But wasn't that the precise scenario she seemed determined to repeat? Then, intruding on her internal debate, she heard footsteps and turned, with her heart suddenly pounding in her chest.