Together we return, hand in hand to our room in the little village inn. We have been driving the countryside touring the vineyards and wineries, sampling the many wonderful vintages and buying a few. The day was long, exhausting but wonderful, as it was selfishly spent in each other's company.
As we have spent the better part of the day in and out of the car, we are both weary and looking forward to a hot soak and drinking some of the 'fruits of our day's labours', and of course other more intimate pleasures.
Our suite is painted a pale yellow, has a high ceiling with windows to match. Each is draped in heavy brocade curtains, which add richness to the room. There is a single double bed (who needs more?). The fireplace has been lit in anticipation of our return and quickly the chill is drawn from our bodies. Before the hearth is a coffee table laden with fresh fruits and aromatic cheeses with crackers. A carpet picnic for lovers.
The wines are deposited on the bar and a 5-year-old vintage Merlot is selected for sacrifice.
As you busy yourself with putting on a couple of CDs, I start the Jacuzzi and add a little scented oil and bubble crystals. The candles are lit and the lights dimmed. Two glasses and the wine are placed on the small shelf above the tub.
We meet in the middle of the room by the glowing fireplace. I take you in my arms and nuzzle your neck with my lips. You lean your head back, exposing your throat. I inhale your perfume – that which you dabbed this morning and the natural fragrance of a woman in love.
Your hands are in my hair – short (you say) and getting grayer and grayer each year. It is pure pleasure to have you massage my scalp from forehead to the back of my neck. Your fingers are strong and tender. They have an eagerness about them. Your nails gently scrape my skin and the little finger invades my ear – sending shivers down my spine to my growing hardness.
We have been together for twenty-one years - 184,080 hours. We've had good times and hard times, raised two wonderful kids and amazing in today's society we are still together and still in love. More in love than when it all began that wonderful fall day. A half-day stolen from a short business trip as we wandered Niagara Falls, hand in hand. The early evening in the lounge of the Prince George Hotel in Niagara-on-the-Lake, seated on the couch, our thighs touching, and our breathing rapid, sipping wine, oblivious of our surroundings and the others about us. You wore a burgundy coloured corduroy suit with a slit, high on the skirt. Your blouse of cream with ruffles at the neck and sleeves was perfect. After twenty-one years, it is as vivid today as then.
That is what love is.
I bring my hands to your hair and slowly remove the clip holding it back from your face. Your autumn-red locks tumble on either side of your face. You shake your head with a sense of freedom. Your pale skin is beginning to glow. Is it from the increasing heat of the room or the building fire from within?
We look into each other's eyes and I bring my lips to yours - gentle at first, but slowly more insistent. My tongue explores your lips with the faint taste of the fresh strawberry you have just eaten. Your lips part and your tongue meets mine. They dance together, tip-to-tip - then bolder, as each invades the warm, wet cave of its partner. Sharp teeth, soft tongue, hot breath – all elements of the erotic and sensuous mouth -- mouths that give and receive pleasure. The first of the tactile senses to be employed by lovers.
Our kiss becomes more urgent. Lips pressed tight. Tongues wrestling. Hearts pounding. Blood racing. But time is our partner, not an enemy as is normally the case. This is our day, our night, and our time. The object is to move slowly, sensuously, provocatively, exciting our partner with subtle escalations of passion.
Our bodies separate slightly to allow hands to explore. Your blouse is rising and falling with your deeper breathing. Your hardened nipples make twin-peaks just begging for attention. My hands descend your back to the base of your spine, caressing your skin through the silk of your blouse. My fingers leave sparks of electricity on your emotionally charged nerves.
Likewise, you bring your hands to my face, down my chest unbuttoning as you descend. You slip your still cool hands under the shirt and caress my sides. With little circles made by your fingernails you lightly scratch your way to my nipples. Like yours, they too are showing signs of arousal. Using just the tip of thumb and forefinger you pinch and tug, not so gently. I move back in surprise, in a little pain and amazingly in pleasure. It was as if a small jolt of electricity had been shot through my chest.
You looked surprised at my reaction. You quickly coo soothing words and lower your head to gently kiss both nipples, one after the other. My hands hold you to me. You get the picture and begin to play with me - a little nip followed by a sensuous kiss and sucking. If this is what you feel then I begin to understand the pleasure you get from the attention I give your breasts.
As you continue to minister to my heaving chest, I pull your blouse from your skirt. Starting from the bottom I slowly release the buttons. Your hands and lips are too busy to notice. When you straighten up you are exposed, save for the last button at your neck. This I slowly undo. My arms encircle you beneath the blouse. I slide my hands down to your perfectly shaped ass. An ass I fell in love with the first time you exited my office with that sensuous walk of yours – one foot placed directly in front of the other. I cup each cheek in a palm and squeeze. The firmness, the size, the shape all are answers to a man's fantasies - my fantasies - my lover's ass.
I slip your blouse from your shoulders. Each arm is individually removed from the garment with a kiss planted on each wrist as the hand leaves the sleeve.
You stand before me in a chemise, your pleated mid-thigh length skirt, stockings and the high heels you slipped on. You turn to give me a view from all angles. You raise your hands, trailing your fingernails from your hips across your thighs, and slowly up your stomach. As you reach your silk draped breasts you take each one in hand. You weigh them, lift them, and caress them. Then you flatten your hands and work your palm lightly over each nipple, bringing them more alive and extended than ever before. You close your eyes, drop your head back so the hair falls off your shoulders and down your back.
You keep up the slow massage of your breasts - alternately caressing, palming and pinching each nipple. Your colour grows deeper and you're breathing quickens. Your eyes open with a start. You are not alone. You seem ashamed to have been caught pleasuring yourself.
I hold you and reassure you there is no need and it was giving me as much pleasure as it so obviously was giving you – the evidence available for both to see.
