The Mirror

You awake early. You rise and see that I am asleep. You watch my chest rise and fall. You smile to yourself. You have felt my chest before and you smile. The feel of my chest against your hands as you remember running your hands lightly along my chest. The memories of the feeling bring a smile to your face and other places. Your hand touches my chest and you feel it rise and fall, the power of it and yet careful not to wake me from my sleep. Deciding to let me have my late start you rise from the bed.

Light beams in from the northern window as you search idly for your bed robe, thrown so hastily on the floor last night after Italian food and perhaps too much wine for the both of us…perhaps. You go where the robe lies on the floor, where I pulled it away from your body and threw it to the floor, with the desire that you saw in my eyes. Slowly you pick it up. You hold it to yourself, but you feel the sun on your toes, the warmth that feels very good this morning. Slowly you let the sunlight fully envelop you, warmth touching you. You feel the light on your breasts and it feels very good, almost as though the caress of my hands on you. A thought occurs, and quickly your head turns to search me out, in the hopes I saw you in the light, waiting to be touched, but I still sleep. You sigh, and yet you are slightly excited, as though you are getting away with something. You giggle and twirl in the light. Once again you look, and silently curse me for not waking to join you in your dance in the light, to throw you down on the bed and show you that I am a man and you a woman and all the joys of our joining.

You sigh, and silently make a note to punch me in the ribs for not waking sometime soon. You head to the kitchen for your morning dose of coffee. You brew the coffee, but your mind slips back to last night. The memories of my touch flood you. My hands roaming your body. My hands on your slim legs, the backs of your knees, the small of your back, holding your breasts perfectly. The steam drifting into the air brings you back to the present morning. You fill your mug with the brew and then another for me. You head back to the bedroom sipping from your morning mug. You see me asleep still and wonder if I intend to sleep the whole day. You set my mug on the nightstand and a wicked thought comes of a way to wake me up, but you decide to save that for a later day.

You head to the bathroom and turn on the faucet. You let the water run. You splash some water on your face and search for your favorite comb. A comb I bought for you after you saw it and begged me to have it. You take it and begin to stroke your fiery red hair. A ritual you never skip. One hundred strokes you begin silently counting out. You see me suddenly in the mirror and give a slight jump. Quickly you smile as I come to stand behind you. You feel my hand on your ass and I slide my hand gently up your back. I wrap my arms around your belly as you continue to brush your hair and you feel the strength of my arms against your soft skin. You brush your hair still. I watch you in the mirror and I am captivated by you as you brush your hair. As you brush your hair, I watch your breasts heave slightly. You smile and bump me and say "morning lover". I smile and kiss your neck. I take your hand in mine and slowly stroke your fiery red hair. Soon I am stroking your hair as you wrap your hands around yourself.

You turn and smile. I stop. "Please don't stop John" you whisper. I stroke your hair once again, and you kiss me. A quick touch of your lips to mine. Another stroke, and another quick kiss, but not so quick as the last. I brush again and receive a longer kiss. Each stroke of your hair brings a longer kiss. Soon our tongues mingle and meet. You love the taste of my lips, the smell of me. I lift you onto the bathroom counter, breaking our kiss ever so briefly. You spread your legs slightly as I lean on the counter for support. You take the comb from my hand and lay it carefully on the counter. You run your fingers through my chest hair, down my side, giggling slightly at the thought of the punch you promised me. You slide your fingernails down my shoulders and arms, marking me as yours.

Softly you tell me "I'm ready John," the brushing of your hair has made you warm. A morning ritual and strangely foreplay. "Lay with me, be with me, in me, John" you say. You bite my neck lightly and laugh, marking me once again. I scoop you up in my arms and carry you to the bed. The bed in covered in sunlight and we make love in the sun for the rest of the morning.