Aug 212006
 

I found another picture of Karin today. She had taped it to the inside of a kitchen cabinet. It’s a statement of how distracted I’ve been that I didn’t see it before. It was a picture of her breasts; her skin that wonderful mocha color with the dark ebony nipples. She was squeezing her breasts together for the camera and making that wonderful cleavage that she knew I liked so much.

Karin had left little surprises like that all over the house. We knew she would have to go to the convention months in advance and Karin was never one to prepare at the last minute. She took her love of exhibitionism and turned it into a romantic game of unexpected delights. I try to figure out when she had so much time alone to do all the gifts she had left me and the answer is quite depressing. She had plenty of time, stolen here and there when I thought I had more important things to do. When I insisted on watching the ball game, Karin had her time. When I killed hours with my friends, Karin was seeding the house with homemade porn. When I immersed myself in a good book, Karin was in the bedroom dreaming up naughty things to surprise me.

Her gifts appeared as soon as she was gone out the door. It started with a video of her left on the computer. She had used our Webcam to capture a three-minute striptease. Karin’s perfect body moved and grooved and slinked as her clothes were shed to the sound of an Alicia Keys song. I did a search for more video files on the computer but found nothing. My girl wasn’t going to make it that easy.

The rest of the day I felt like I was tripping over Karin’s treasures. Every couple of minutes revealed an indecent photo of her ass, an audiotape of her climaxing, or a simple dirty note describing how much she enjoyed sucking my cock. That first day she was away was magical and funny at the same time. Though I was incredibly turned on by her gifts, I was also impressed by the many ingenious ways that she hid her notes. No place was safe to sit down. I couldn’t flip through a magazine or open a book without having Karin’s sexuality thrown at me like a passing kiss.

The finale for that first night was when I found a pair of panties under my pillow. It was a purple thong. Her scent was strong on it and I could tell that it had been deliberately “dampened.” Taking her gift in stride, I wrapped it around my cock and masturbated with it. I think Karin would have been happy to see her gifts used in the spirit in which they were given.

Three days went by and my love for Karin only grew. It’s not because she was constantly surprising me with pictures of dark nipples, round asses and orgasmic moans. My love grew because I realized how important her sexuality was to who she was, and by expressing her sexual side to me, she was telling me how unique I was to her. Only I was worthy of a four-page letter tucked inside the cereal box that described how much she loved masturbation. That makes a man feel loved and I thought day and night of how I could show my affection as well as she had shown me hers.

Things became complicated when she died. A drunk driver killed Karin on the fourth day of the seminar convention. She must have been driving to a restaurant or maybe she just wanted to see the sights. I’ll never be sure why she was out and about but I don’t think it matters much. All I know is Karin is gone now.

But not her hidden gifts. I must have found most of them but every other day I find another. Tucked away in places I don’t think either of us had been in years, Karin left her pornographic love notes. Yesterday I found a picture taped to the bottom of the bathroom sink. How was I supposed to have looked there? The absurdity of her placement has made me paranoid in my own house.

I debated moving out. I mean, I loved Karin, but finding a disk with a twenty second movie of her kissing a vibrator just breaks my heart all over again. The problem is, if I pack everything, I might pack undiscovered photos she had tucked in books and what not and then even in my new place I might find her gifts. I would have moved for nothing.

Last week I found a photo of Karin’s nipple in a magazine I swore I had read before. For one brief moment, I wondered if she was still alive somehow and hiding new pictures. It took an hour of hard crying to understand that she was really dead. Still, when I find a new picture, I scrutinize it for far too long to prove to myself that she is still dead.

One day I considered tearing the house apart. I could look in every corner and every possible inch of space. The idea comforted me and I even started on the basement where I found three more of her photos. I just couldn’t go through with it, though. A dread feeling welled up inside me and I went outside to understand where my panic was coming from.

As I stood outside the house where so many of Karin’s emotional land mines were still hidden, it was clear to me why I had to stop. If I did find all of her notes, disks, and photos, then there wouldn’t be any more. Her love for me would be quantified and cataloged in its entirety. If I didn’t find them all, then her love for me would never end.

  5 Responses to “Fiction: Forget Me Nots”

  1. Wow, thank you.
    This was very moving.

  2. Whoa. I’m blown away by the emotion here. Wonderful, love.

  3. that was very sweet, i liked it a lot

  4. Thank you all. I have a feeling there will be more like these with the Katrina anniversary coming up.

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.