Oh God. It is becoming too much. I don’t think. I don’t think I can… I don’t think I can stop.
I think of you.
When I think of your body, I think of it pressed against mine. Clutched closely in an embarrassingly beautiful embrace. And something in me opens. I think it is my heart. My heart opens. And there, inside whatever it is inside me (perhaps it is my heart) a slow blossoming begins. So slow. Like honey dripping from a spoon. Like the tearing of fabric, of clothing. Like the almost accidental strumming of a guitar. So deliciously slow, and then completed in an instant. The arc of this feeling, its beginning, and the questions and uncertainty of its middle, and then its climax and denouement, it took longer than I could bear and was over before I was ready, and all that remains is the searing memory of an opening, and a blossoming, of something within me. So I’m on my death-bed, remembering you.
Perhaps I’m picking you up at the airport. It seems so long since I last saw you, and now I stand searching the crowd for your red hair. And there you are, coming up the escalator, coming around the rope, and you finally find me with your eyes. You drop your bags and you run to me. The first… how long? 30 seconds? 30 minutes?… are like trying to climb inside each other or trying to climb out of a chrysalis. We crush each other with our arms and kiss instead of breathe, and when finally we let an inch come between us, a hunger swallows us both. It’s so strange to look at you and know, know, that you feel it just like I do. Overwhelming, undeniable desire; irrepressibly immediate. Yes, ma’am. We are going to fuck. Right fucking now. (And why not? There is no taboo in this world. No law. No one who would think of interfering.) You begin to undo the buttons of my shirt. One, two, I’m standing there with a stupid grin on my face waiting for you to undress me, and trembling with impatience. Fuck this – I grab my shirt and tear it open, buttons fly. Then I grab your shirt to tear it too, but pause; it’s a beautiful blouse, actually. A shame. But you nod to me and so I rip it right in half. Then… What happened next? … How did I get you out of your bra? What happened to our pants and shoes? Somehow all the fumbling and fucking around with unwanted fabrics and fasteners is over in an amnesiac blur. And there we are. Naked as our lust. In the middle of the airport. Again I look at you and somehow know without any doubt that you’re feeling and thinking exactly what I’m feeling and thinking. This Desire, capital D, is no less immanent. But somehow now that we’re naked and the moment is at hand, it seems that we’ve been allowed a tiny bit of control over our frenzy. It’s agony…
but let us let the agony draw out. Oh and it is such a sweet agony. Every endless instant without your cunt clamped tight around my cock just fucking hurts. Every non-coital moment is like a little death. But we’re both thinking the same thing, choosing to be human instead of wild things, choosing to tease ourselves and each other with this masochistic delay. Enjoying the Desire. So we lean together gently. Close the distance between our bodies slowly and gently. And despite the urgency of our needs, we simply kiss. Slowly, and softly, and with such loving tenderness (ancient gods wept) we kiss. Still standing, still kissing, our hands begin to roam, inexorably towards each other’s genitals. My fingernails scrape slowly up your thigh, from as low as I can reach until I reach your pussy, where the momentary contact brings a small electric gasp from up your throat. Then I repeat from above, drawing my fingernails slowly, ticklingly, along your pubis, back down to your pussy, for another little gasp. I let my hand rest there, cupping your vulva warmly and firmly. Ever so carefully I part your lips with one finger, but there’s no difficulty there. So wet. Meanwhile your hand has similar ideas. You reach down to cup my balls in your warm palm, and to gently pinch and tug my scrotum. Then up to wrap your hand around my shaft, squeezing a bit, feeling my pulse as I throb for you. You find my urethra with one finger, and spread a drop of pre-cum around my cockhead. By this time I have worked one finger inside of you, making small come-hither gestures against the ceiling of your vagina. Your hips rock occasionally with my movement. Both our breaths are becoming shorter. All the while we’re kissing. After some time of this gentle mutual masturbation, I break our kiss and look in your eyes, and notice that you’ve been crying. “Oh my love! Wherefore tears?” “Don’t worry. It not a bad kind.” “But what is it?” “It’s only… that I want you so bad,” you say, “I’ve never wanted anything so bad ever. And now… soon… I’ll have you inside me. Just like I want. I just feel… I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” Then… What happened next? … We fucked, of course. But somehow the act itself, as badly as we’d needed it, as perfect as it probably was, wasn’t important. I was on top or maybe you were, or maybe we tried it sitting on those uncomfortable airport chairs. When we both orgasmed together, a crowd of travelers clapped and cheered. But then again, every time we make love is perfect, isn’t it? That’s not what mattered this time. What mattered was that unearthly need. What mattered to me was looking in your eyes afterward and knowing that we were both thinking the same thing. Sweaty and spent, exhausted and satisfied. We both knew that need we both had felt, that transcendent sexual desire, it had been real. So real that we could never forget. We will never really be exhausted. You will always have energy for me. We will never really be satisfied. I will always need you.
Maybe you’re kneeling now. And I’m standing before you naked and erect. Evening light filtering through the living-room curtains. And maybe I pull your head back by your ponytail, a little more roughly than I intended, stretching your neck upward like a baby bird. I put my thumb in your mouth and a flicker of responses ensues: the corners of your mouth lift at the humour of it, then you bite playfully and hard, and then you do what I’m asking of you, sucking my thumb like you’ve been sucking my cock, eyes closed, tongue circling, lips (your wet, full lips!) closed tight, cheeks depressed by suction. A half-step towards you brings my cockhead to your cheekbone, and as I stroke myself, my knuckles stroke your cheek. You’ve been giving me beautiful head for the last half hour. Giving my cock that endlessly intimate kiss, and bringing me so close now to the brink. The mixture of your saliva and
my precum is an ideal lubricant, but they’ll dry soon, so I intensify my effort. I need to finish myself, and it won’t be long. “Soon,” I say. “Mmm,” you say, smiling, “Give it to me,” and open-mouthed, tongue flicking around my thumb, you smile just a bit and look me in the eyes. My first shot splashes all the way up on your forehead. My second spasm lands jizz on the whispy hairs at your temple. The third, and fourth, and fifth are just trickles, which I spread deliberately on your upper lip, and cheek, and chin. “I want to taste it,” you say. So I use my cock to scoop a dollop of cum from your cheek into your mouth. And then because my cock is in your mouth again, I want more. I clutch your head tight in my hands. “Open your mouth wide.” You oblige, and even stick your tongue out, and I very slowly guide your head down, and up, and down around my dick; you’re barely touching me at all but the heat of your breath and the soft/rough texture of your tongue against my glans feels almost like another orgasm. And there’s the sight of you and the sensual fact of you. My cum on your face. My hands squeezing your head tightly. Your mouth holding my cock so gently. A hint of a smile on your lips, and your eyes locked on mine. You’re such a gift. And I’m so grateful.
Maybe we’re clutching together in the dark before sleep. I’m the little spoon; you’re the big, forehead resting in the space between my shoulder-blades. I’m smiling in the dark, enjoying the fatigue in my muscles and the slight ache in my cock, trying to remember how many different times and ways we gave each other pleasure today. You shift against me, pushing your hips forward, and making me smile a little wider because, yum, it feels nice to have your body cuddled next to mine. And when you thrust your hips again I think nothing of it, and the third time I’m starting to get an inkling, and by the fourth or fifth hump I have to laugh out loud and ask, “ahem, ah, would you happen to be dry humping my ass right now?” “Mmmm,” you whine, “I wanna cum again.” “Ha! God, woman, you are insatiable.” In the same petulant voice you answer “Doesn’t mean you can’t try.” By god you’re right. I’m not that tired after all. In a moment I’m right above you, kissing your lips, my tired, flaccid penis dangling against your warm place. And after what I deem sufficient kissing, I begin my slow way down your body. Kissing your neck, your collarbones, your chest. Taking time to tease and suck each nipple. Kissing and licking my way down your belly. And finally, I take a moment to situate myself comfortably on the bed between your wide-spread legs. My face is in my favorite place. I take a moment to admire you. Such a lovely flower, I think. So very, very pretty. I take a moment to kiss the neighbors before I move to my destination. First I plant a wet, sucking kiss on one thigh, right near the crease of your groin, and then the other. Then I move up to plant a kiss on your mons, and then move down, and give your ass a tiny nip. And then I move straight to the center, with puckered up lips I kiss hard and say “Mmmwoa!” I guess I’m just happy to be here. So to begin in earnest. I begin by licking right at the very bottom of your vaginal opening, just an inch above your anus, very gently, with only the tip of my tongue. Slowly I press my tongue a little deeper, make my licks a little longer, until I’m licking right from the bottom to the top, and you’re spread open, pink inner lips exposed. And so I continue. I lick and suck your labia, I trace designs around your clit, I caress it with a flat tongue and flick it with a sharp tongue, I alternate my techniques, I listen to your breathing, I try to judge what’s working for you. You’re so quiet, sometimes it’s so hard to tell. Delicious minutes of this pass. My finger is inside of you and my tongue is working your clitoris. At one point you give me a little throaty moan, but I can tell your orgasm is not going to happen this way. Damn, I’m thinking, I thought I was good at this. “Tell me what to do,” I say. “I don’t know,” that little whine is still in your voice and I know you want to cum. I’ve been there; I can sympathize. “Maybe get a toy?” So I get up and find one of your toys in the dresser, the one with the indian head. “Where’s the lube?” I ask. “Just give it to me.” So I hand it to you and you stick it in your mouth and suck it wet, and then pull it out, a little strand of saliva stretches between your lips and the tip of the dildo, and without any ado you push it inside yourself and press the button that turns it on. Already both your hands are in action, the right holding the indian and the left rubbing your clit. “What can I do?” “Lay here with me. Just hold me.” So I press my body against yours, I kiss your neck and your earlobe, squeeze your breasts and stroke your tummy, you turn to kiss me and you turn away again, concentrating, and I watch. God what a sight you are. I can’t think of anything sexier than a sexy woman pleasuring herself, and you are so very sexy. I’m watching you, but I’m not even sure of the moment it happens. You’re breathing quickly, your body is tense, but you don’t make a sound. Until “I just came.” I can’t help but feel a little… unhelpful. Don’t I know your body at all? I lay there, listening to your breathing for a while. Holding your body in my arms. “Tomorrow,” I say, “we are going to try this cunnilingus thing until we get it right.” But you don’t answer. You’re already asleep.
Camping, smoke, picnic table.
Put a baby in me