As the amount of exposed skin had increased, the level of verbal communication had decreased.
She lay before me upon the bed, clad in only a matching pink bra and panty set emblazoned with silhouettes of svelte women. Sitting beside her, I wore even less: simply a small black thong-style pouch barely able to contain my obvious arousal.
For several years, she had been a good friend. For several months, she had been a great girlfriend.
And finally, I was about to make love to her for the first time.
The gentle breeze slightly ruffled the lacy cream-colored curtains and caused the candles' small flames to sway gently, flickering the dim lighting. Yet the glowing flame of love never wavered in her eyes as she lifted a hand to my bare chest and stroked me gently. She was not touching me for the first time, but her touch nonetheless felt "new" given the increased meaning of the night, of the joining soon to occur.
Her hand stilled over my heart, and her smile widened. Clearly, she could feel my heartbeat, and she obviously liked what she felt. I placed a hand over hers, my other hand continuing to caress her stomach as we spoke lovingly with our eyes.
In time, she rose, moving with the gracefulness of a professional ballerina, to sit before me. We embraced, our lips joining once more, the very tips of our tongues brushing subtly against each other. She whimpered into my mouth, acquiescing as my tongue began to probe her, explore her, claim her. I sensed the thought passing through her mind:
He will soon possess me fully.
Perhaps in response to her thought, I moved a hand between us, to her chest, respectfully yet firmly squeezing a breast. The satin of her bra felt quite nice, very sensual, yet the warm pliability of the anatomy it supported felt far better. Many times in the previous few months, I had fondled her breasts - sometimes her bare breasts, sometimes through her bra, although often through her full clothing - yet I was still filled with awe that she would allow me to touch her so intimately, still filled with amazement that the friendship which had begun in college had transformed into something far more fulfilling once we had moved into a small house together as grad students to try to save expenses.
Our tongues and our lips separated at last, she rested her head upon my shoulder, her contented sighs warming the side of my neck. While one hand continued to adore her sexily-clad breast, my other hand slithered up her back, pausing only momentarily to finger the clasp of her bra as a "prelude" of events to come, ultimately coming to rest upon her brown-curtained head as she kissed my neck.
"I've dreamt of this for weeks," she whispered, "of giving myself to you, completely."
I bent my head down to kiss her cheek. "I've dreamt of this for years," I admitted, "almost since I first met you."
"Really?"
"Really."