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Saturday afternoon, while I was checking my email, I heard the video system kick in. I figured Abby was up to something. Part of me (mostly my dick) hoped that she was up to some fun with her boyfriend Chris -- possibly even including her pal Melissa like they had over New Year's. I loved jerking off to that video. No such luck, however. It was merely Abby returning some of her mother's panties to her lingerie drawer and putting some other stuff in the closet, which was out of view of the cameras.It was just after sunset when I got a call from Abby. I was surprised. I'm certain there were other adults among her parents' friends that she could have called. She told me she had heard a noise and wanted me to investigate. When I arrived, Abby was dressed in tight jeans and a midriff-baring, very tight t-shirt. Her flame-red hair was braided into pigtails. She looked a little nervous, which was in keeping with having heard a strange noise. When I asked where she had heard the noise, she. They were, I guess, safe harbors, keeping a little of order in all that was happening. The first few encounters, however, were just the opposite. The words were few and we barely mentioned the stories or what we had been talking about on the emails, often leaving the restaurant after nothing but a drink, sometimes meeting in the hotel. There was no schedule, sometimes we just met online and combined to meet for lunch, often not even entering the restaurant. It was confusing until it became a routine. I wish I could remember more of those days; memory is so funny. I can remember somethings perfectly, as if they were happening right now: the settings, the tone of her voice, the way her hair was combed. Some of the things I remember are contradicted by the emails I kept; sometimes they are so different from my recollections that it almost seems one of them was fabricated. One of the was fabricated: my memories, changing as time passed. Telling this story has been a constant questioning.
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