It's cliche, but I never understood the undefinable and unreachable idea that is love. Some say that it's a chemical reaction in the brain and that it isn't real. If that's true, then is our sadness not real? Is our happiness not real?
Who knows?
What I do know is the chemical reaction in my brain says I want to touch her skin and feel her shudder under my fingertips.
You've met this woman before. She's distant, outspoken, reluctant, distrustful, tough when the situation calls for it, soft when it doesn't. In bed, she gives in, like she's being given something that alcohol can't touch.
M can take your breath in a matter of little moments, with just a few words.
She slays me each time, when those words slip in to casual conversation.
"You're beautiful," she tells me.
I look at her. She's crazy to use such a word on a man. Beautiful. My god, I think I love her. She's the one who's beautiful. She's six months older than me, much shorter than me, probably forty pounds overweight. Imperfect in every way. She makes me want to crawl under her skin and live there. I draw the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip. She's good at sucking cock. At almost forty, of course she's had experience, but even the experienced can't match what her mouth can do to me.
I don't want her to suck my cock tonight, though.
I push her hair behind her shoulder and kiss her mouth once. It quivers gently. Yes, that's what I want. Let it quiver for me. I kiss down the line of her neck. On TV, some dumb show or another is playing in a non distracting manner that's easy to ignore. My fingers find the hem of her t-shirt that she always wears to bed. I lift it up. She lets me. She always lets me and I don't know why. I toss the shirt aside and look at her, my hand sliding down her chest.
I hate describing a woman's body. Doing so is ridiculous in its very nature and always the same. M's body is so perfect to me that I treat it almost like it's fragile and she hates that. She guides my hand to a warm, heavy breast and she pulls in a breath when I splay my fingers on it and bring my mouth to her nipple. I pull it past my lips and teeth and suck on it.
"Harder," she exhales.
How could I say no? I suck, harder. Just her asking for it gets my blood racing. I want to fuck her now, but there are other things to be done. Things she's always standoffish about. She doesn't like that kind of vulnerability. Even when I get her shorts off and release her nipple, I can feel her thighs tightening and her knees closing once she's exposed.
I place my hands to her knees.
"Spread your legs," I tell her.
She obeys. She always does. Again, I don't know why.
I kiss her soft belly once I can settle myself between her thighs. I feel she's wet and ready to be fucked. She'll have to wait. My chin, my mouth, the tip of my nose, pass over soft hair as my fingers spread her folds. Her nub is right there, so close to my mouth I can already taste it. I can smell her, all heavy and waiting with anxiety. Her clit gives a little pulse.
