Everything To Do With Sanity

I have been thinking about sex a lot lately, about hot sex, passionate sex full of noise and urgency. I guess it's because that is exactly the opposite of what I get. Tony takes the lady in me to bed, making love to me carefully as though I were made of glass leaf, when what I really want him to do is fuck me.

It has nothing to do with power, with control, or dominance. It has everything to do with sanity, my sanity and needing to get crazy. It has something to do with friends and my mother and my daughter and running away - not from them, but from the me in them. Does that make sense?

It has everything to do with sex.

It has something to do with love.

It has everything to do with me, with the thoughts in my head that I can't control or direct. Sometimes I get so lost in them I get scared, my stomach cramps and I want to cry. But it's also kind of nice, because it's so intense.

Tony knows nothing of this. He knows I masturbate while he's at work, and sometimes he'll ask me what I thought about while I did it, and I tell him, but I haven't told him how powerful the emotions are that drove me to it, or how much control they have over me.

But today is going to be different. Today I'm going to do something about it. I'm going to live the fantasy, the adventure in sex my body is screaming for. I'm going to let the demon peek out. I don't know how Tony will take it; I haven't been able to talk to him about it. The risk is he'll hate me, but if I don't do something I'll go insane anyway.

The important thing is to start slowly, reduce the shock that his pretty, sensible girlfriend - we get married next year, the date's set, which is another reason why it's so important he understands everything - and mother of his child has a secret sex drive, a slutty streak that's aching to be given liberty.

Because the last thing I want to do is scare him, seduction, I decide, will be my watchword. I want to seduce him into my way of thinking, my way of fucking.

Afterwards we can talk. I'll tell him everything then, about how I feel and what I think are my needs; after all, they have never really been explored anywhere outside of my head yet.

What if I don't like it? The thought hadn't occurred to me before. For a while I lie there, warm on my side of the bed, looking at the empty pillow next to me. I can still smell Tony, below the gels and shampoos, creams and oils he uses each night and morning before work.

I can smell him, though it's only faint: salt water and summer seaside beaches, tangy oranges, rain and freshly sawn wood.

Rolling over on my back, feeling the soft cotton of the quilt draw across my nipples, sending tiny lightning strikes down my belly and into my sex, I stroke the front of my leg where it joins with my hip. I like the feel of the way the muscles bunch here. One, two, three definable muscles, toned and hardened by three classes a week.

I feel the lust demon within me stir, but I don't want to waken it, not yet, so I stop my fingers going any further. No, I don't think there is any danger of me not liking tonight.

I guess the only fear I have left is of rejection.

Getting out of bed, I pad across the bedroom floor until I'm standing in front of the mirror. It's not as warm as I thought and gooseflesh breaks out on my arms and upper legs and my nipples crinkle tight. Mmm, nice: hair by Crystal Tips, body by Colonel Sanders; so much for a boost of self-esteem!

Tensing my legs and bum I turn sideways, front ways, sideways again. I hold my hands over the tangled hair that covers my mons, imitating a Brazilian, and smile at the effect. It seems to extenuate my wide hips and flatten my tummy - any help in that department is always welcome - and the thin line of hair left looks like a dark finger pointing towards my sex.

Not having the pain threshold for a waxing, it's something I'll attend to later in the bath with a civilised razor, I decide, pulling on a too-big sloppy-Jo before sitting at the dressing table to begin the daily crush and remould on my face.

* * * *

The drive to my mother's takes under half an hour. Megan's in the back gurgling and giggling happily in her child seat, while the rest of the car is filled with every essential, possible and maybe for her overnight stay.

'What's so special about tonight?' Mother asks when I arrive. She takes Megan and I begin unpacking.

'Nothing, just a break, that's all.'

'Stay for coffee.' She knows me better than anyone, and can tell something's up. Fleetingly I wonder it I should talk it over with her; she'd probably understand, though I doubt the general tone I'd have to use would get close to what's going on inside me. I decide it's something I have to work out for myself, so I decline, kiss them both and leave.

Back at home the first thing I do is shake a blanket out on the lounge floor, smoothing the crinkles by stroking them out to the edge until it's completely flat. Then I kneel in the middle.

I try to imagine how it will be tonight, Tony naked and hard, me open and ready, touching, tasting each other - something he has never done to me, but something I long for. Then how it will feel as I take him inside me, not with me on my back as is always the case, but straddling him, taking control, rocking slowly back and forth as I watch the walls of his defence tumble with each stroke, until he's as lost in the sensations as I am.

Sunshine has warmed the day and now lights the voile hanging at the front window into a blinding white. Safe nobody can look in, I steel one hand up my skirt and brush the soft cotton of my underwear, knowing how damp and urgent I have become.

Will he beg, yell, call out my name? I close my eyes. Will he talk to me, using words like 'fuck', 'cunt', 'tits' and 'cock'; words neither of us use but would sound so erotic in the height of passion, as if he were so full of desire for me he had no control over what he was saying, and wouldn't care if he did.

I want all the evolution man hides behind to dissolve away, leaving only the basest of human emotions, a Neanderthal-like urge to fuck.

Creeping a finger inside the elastic of my knickers, I go straight between the soft folds of skin to my special button. I gulp back the pool of saliva that has suddenly sprung into my mouth. I feel hot, light-headed and desperate. My demon of lust is now full awake.

I know I could partly relieve myself by just continuing what I'm doing, but today's not about that. Today's different. Withdrawing my hand I straighten myself and force my mind to return to the fact that I am kneeling on the blanket.

Food. Tony loves his food, so I'm going to give him an orgy of food all laid out here on the floor. It'll be a carpet picnic, with everything he loves. I want warm fragrant bread and ice cream next to each other. Chocolate cake and potato wedges smothered in cheese; each plate individual yet impossible not to be tasted together, just for the sheer decadence of it.

I want us to be as wild for the food as we are for each other. Eating while we fuck, fucking while we eat, me feeding him, him feeding me - sensations overlapping, hot, cold, sweet, sour, our taste buds blending with the sexual energy until release could come by swallowing or orgasm and you're no longer sure which.

I can feel myself shaking slightly, and I know if I don't get up and begin preparing the food now, I'll drop deeper into this well of lust until I'm consumed by it and nothing else matters. This is when I can get scared, but this is also when the intensity is so delicious.

Slowly I get up on soft legs and walk towards the kitchen.

* * * *

It's now six o'clock. The curtains are closed, the candles are lit and the food is spread out on the blanket around me. I'm bathed, shaved and draped in the sexiest lingerie I can find. I have found a classical music station on the radio and set the volume low, and I'm as petrified as I have ever been.

It had all seemed like such a good idea, but now all I keep thinking is he had never shown any interest in anything but basic sex, so what the heck made me think I could seduce him like this? He'll think in depraved, walk out, or worse, laugh.

Then I hear the key in the door and there's no more time. This is it. My heart's pounding in my ears and my palms are drenched in cold, clammy sweat.

The noise of the door slamming shut behind him makes me jump.

The lounge is open and suddenly he's framed in the doorway, jacket half off. His tie is red and hangs down like a huge, angry arrow pointing just below his belt buckle. I've never noticed how it hangs before.

He doesn't move for ages and I realise he's frozen. He looks like a photograph.

I take a deep breath. 'Mum's got Megan,' I say.

Nothing.

I feel like I'm on a stage with thousands of eyes staring at me. I want to hide my body, cover myself with hands and arms, but if this is going to work I know I have to take control. Fighting the urge to do the opposite I open my legs wide and run a finger down the centre of my purple cotton G-string.

'Please come and join me?' I say, managing to disguise some of the tension in my voice.

He walks over, shrugging the jacket back on and for a second I'm convinced he's going to shout at me, but he doesn't, he smiles, bends down and kisses me full on the lips, taking my face in his hands and opening my mouth with his tongue.

Relief almost falls as tears before I remember what this is all about, and set to work slipping his jacket over his shoulders and tossing it across the room where it lands half on the sofa and half on the floor.

'What's this about,' he says. How confusing it must seem.

Taking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt I say, in the sexiest voice I can muster, 'this is about us. Well, no, actually, this is about me.' His shirt's off, joining the jacket. He's kneeling next to me and I put my hand flat on the zip of his trousers. I can feel heat.

'We can talk after. Right now all you have to do is fuck me.' The final two words echo in the space between us. Before he can say anything I reach over, pick up a chunk of cheese and stuff half of it into his mouth, half in mine and we're both smiling and chewing.

I push him back, touching his smooth chest. He reaches out and fingers my bra, and I squeeze my breast forward into his hand, while pulling his shoes and socks off. Then he twists his hand away.

'I don't . . .' He leaves it hanging, perhaps unsure how to finish it.

'Just touch me, for fuck's sake,' I say.

I close my eyes and hold my breath as he reaches out. I'm so desperate for him I could die. My sex is thrumming for his touch. For a second I swear I can feel the tips of his fingers walk luxuriously over the front of my knickers, but it's just in my mind, because his hands are elsewhere, on my thigh, stroking, though hardly touching the skin. I want to scream.

I want eye contact, but I can't get it. He's looking everywhere but at my face.

'That's not what I meant,' I say, taking hold of his wrist and throwing his hand between my legs. Now I have eye contact. Time closes like a flower at night, and in that brief moment of suspension a whole world of emotions are passed between us. I smile. I think he's as scared as I am.

I lay back, confident he's now with me.

'You look beautiful,' he's saying, running a firm finger up the soft milky-white insides of my thighs. Then both his hands are tugging at the waistband of my knickers. I raise myself as they slide over my hips and down and suddenly my sex is exposed, my newly shaven sex that's oceanically wet.

'Fuck,' he says, staring. The word makes me tingle.

I watch as his face dips between my legs. I have wanted this moment for so long, wondering, wishing. Then he tastes me, experimentally at first, then with more confidence until he's lapping and licking and caressing me with his tongue. My body feels like the sensation dial has been turned from minimum to maximum. All my senses feel sharpened and alert like never before.

Very quickly I can feel the beginnings of an orgasm slow dancing in my tummy. I roll back, throwing my hand above my head where it squelches into the centre of a chocolate cake. I'd forgotten about the food.

Never losing track of the delicious sensation of Tony's tongue, I grab a handful of cake and slide it in front of his face, smearing it over myself. The cream is cold and makes me shiver. I look into Tony's brown eyes for a register of pleasure or disgust, but he's along for the ride now and I hear - and feel - him moan as the flavours of me and the chocolate cake mingle into one.

Soon I'm feeding my man everything, smearing myself with hunks of soft, warm bread ripped from the centre of the loaf, dipping it into my sex before he eats it. Ice-cream, crisp and cold, melting and running in my valley. Strawberries, ripe and juicy, pushed in and sucked out. Melon, ham, warm cheesy potato wedges. Anything I can grab without order of forethought, until I'm delirious, lost somewhere in ecstasy, no longer even aware of Tony as the intensity breaks on the shore of my sex, and I whimper, sob and moan my way through the most powerful orgasm.

After a while I decide it's Tony's turn, so we swap places and I'm stripping him of the rest of his clothes until he's lying naked in front of me. He's gloriously hard, the glands bare, red and shiny.

I want to do this so well for him, and tip my head forward, shaking my hair so as to gently whip him. He smells of brie and seaweed and a dewy forest floor.

Slipping off my bra I feel my breast wobble and still before I lean forward and rub them over his cock, alternately squashing them together and pumping and pressing him into their softness.

I can hear him moan and watch as a tiny bead, like a single tear, seeps from his tip, and I kiss it away. Then I take him whole into my mouth. He feels smooth on my tongue and lips as I luxuriate over his length, testing how deep it will go before pulling back, leaving a trail of saliva down his shaft.

With my hand I cup below, feeling him; the crinkly skin that's thickening the closer he gets to coming, protecting the delicate globes within.

What I really want is to mount him, so I crawl up his body, kissing and licking my way up his chest to his mouth, then, sitting up straight with Tony lying beneath me, I guide him inside me until I'm sitting firmly in his lap.

My wetness allows him to slide in, but does not stop it feeling tight. I feel full up, stretched and complete. I ride him, loving the feeling of being on top, rocking backwards and forwards, up and down.

My own orgasm is approaching now, but I can see Tony's is closer, so touch myself, masturbating, coaxing it closer and closer until I see through slit eyes Tony's face screw up in pleasure.

I sit deep, still, milking him with hidden muscles as he spurts and spits and convulses inside me. All the time I'm rubbing my clit feeling the pleasure build and build until I'm coming too, our orgasm joining, swirling together, out sex locked in the most beautiful embrace.

Without moving, I catch my breath. I want to know how I'm feeling so I can remember this moment, but I'm not sure what I feel. Happy, contented, complete? Relieved? Everything I think.

I look down at Tony. He's grinning, and so am I. We've a lot to talk about, my lover and me.