If You Were Here

"What if I were there?"

If you were here? I look around at my apartment. If you were here, I would take your hand and lead you into the bedroom and close the door and turn off the lights.

Your back against the wall and my hands on your soft t-shirt feeling heat of your skin seep through the cotton and warm my hands. I'd pause there for a second and look at your blue, blue eyes and sweep the bangs off your forehead and press my cheek against yours so I can feel your sexy, scratchy stubble. We would both blush from the excitement and anticipation and intensity. And then we would kiss.

Slow, slow, slow.

My hands would look for more warmth and reach under your shirt and skim over the smooth planes of your chest, and your hands would slide around my waist and up my back, firm and certain. You would leisurely twirl my curls around your fingers and I would lean into your taste and your smell and the softness of your lips, pressing my body against yours, my hands coming out from your shirt to go all in your hair.

My shirt off, your shirt off.

You would make some flirty comment about my bra, which is good because I would wear a sexy one just for you. I would tell you that. "I wore it just for you."

Now you would turn us around so I'm against the wall and you're pressing hard against me; I would feel you, hard, against me. Lips on my lips, lips on my neck, lips on my shoulder, so soft and so warm. Your stubble would rub against my skin and I would comment on how sexy it feels and you would say, "I wore it just for you." You would smile and I would feel the shape of your smile hot against my neck.

We would turn so we're front to back, your front to my back, your back to the wall. Your lips would kiss softly down my neck, so tender that I swear my body is melting against yours. Your hands would touch my waist and my stomach, stroke the tops of my breasts following the gentle curving line of the top of my bra. Your hands would feel so good, and I would want them to feel more of me so I'd take off my bra. (You were never good at that.) I would drop it on the carpet and you would say "You know, it looked good on you, but it looks even better on the floor."

We would stumble to the bed.

Your weight would feel good on top of me, and your mouth would feel so good tasting my collarbone and my nipples and my stomach. My skin would be warm where you kiss me and tingly where I would want you to kiss me. You would reach the waistband of my skirt and I'd whisper to you to take it off. Your tongue would skim the lacy edge of my panties and I'd stroke your hair while mouthing "Please..."

My legs would fall open like a flower for you and your hands would sit on the tops of my thighs while you kiss my center. I would be so wet—for this, for you. You know what I like, and you know how I like it and you'd go down on me until my eyes couldn't roll back any further, until I couldn't gasp anymore, until my heartbeat thudded so loud it practically echoed and all I could say was your name your name your name because I'd be dizzy and lost with pleasure.

And then I'd lay back in rhapsody and you'd unzip your jeans and slide them off. I'd pull you back to me because I would miss your warmth already and I'd push you on your back and straddle you, feeling your hardness press against me. I would kiss your perfect mouth softly and let my breasts press against your chest and I would feel the feverish warmth of your neck against my lips as I rocked back and forth on you with just one layer of cloth separating us.

I would slide down your body and pull of your boxers and then I'd be on you and around you and you'd be in me and under me. You'd hold my curving waist and I'd hold your muscular shoulders and our eyes would be closed but we'd be able to hear each other and feel each other, yes, yes, finding our rhythm, in and yes and out and yes, harder, our skin getting humid and flushed, our sighs getting urgent and rushed, and then we would finish, our cries harmonizing like sensual song and I would collapse on top of you, lying there as our breaths would slow down.

I would crawl off of you and curl into the space between your arm and your chest and put my hand on your chest to feel your heart. You would kiss the side of my mouth and sigh a sigh of contentment and I would kiss your eyelids and stroke your hair, until your skin had cooled down and your breathing was even and slow, and I would lie next to you, watching you dream until morning.

If you were here.