Im Means "intimate Meeting"

Tonight I am up late, thinking of you, longing to celebrate those pleasures which we have come to enjoy so thoroughly, albeit briefly by way of mere instant messages.

A fantasy of you haunts me like a spectre in the corners of my mind, distracting me from the day's tasks. It beckons me to follow, and for a moment tonight, I succumb to the temptation with the hope that it might provide me respite.

Your words of frequent travels to conferences inspire me to write about what might transpire should you ever attend a conference in my town. Perhaps it is a weeknight or two that you stay, making it very hard for me to get away from home under reasonable pretenses. Nonetheless, my desire to be with you marshals together the resources to craft an alibi beyond doubt.

I have been frustrated with my professional labors of late, finding it hard to focus. Noticing this, my wife has suggested that I go someplace outside the home to do my work. I decide to take advantage of this idea, and I tell her that I will go to the bookstore downtown. It has plenty of space, late hours, a coffee bar, and (most importantly) free wireless Internet service. It also happens to be very close to the hotel where you are staying.

After we have put my child to sleep for the evening, I make my exit. The wife wants to watch her Thursday night lineup of reality shows, so she won't miss me at all. I make my way downtown to the parking garage next to the bookstore and find a pay phone to call you. The hotel switchboard puts me through to your room, and you give room's number.

Making my way to the hotel room, my mind fills with anticipation. At long last, I will be with you and you alone. You answer the knock upon your door, and as you welcome me into your home away from home, I am lost in your eyes. You smile devilishly, dressed in a flattering gown that tells me that you have no plans to leave your room, and my lips tighten from the tension that is already beginning to build.

We sit on the couch, and we talk about your conference -- the talks, the schmoozing, the awful food served during the breaks. Your bemoan having been on your feet all day, and I ask you to prop them upon my lap. I apply some firm rubbing to them to work out the pain, and you relax. After working the soles of your feet, I turn my attention to your sensitive toes. I massage them with my fingers, just barely avoiding a ticking sensation.

As the stresses and strains of the day fade from your consciousness, I begin to stroke your smooth legs. I plant some kisses upon them and smell the traces of the fragrance from the lotion you applied to them earlier in the day.

I then turn my attention to you and kiss your lips, lightly at first. Your respond to meet my lips. The sound of the kisses echo lightly in the otherwise lonely room. I caress your shoulder and you pull back for a moment. You return to your feet and extend a hand as a invitation to follow you.

You lead me to a king-sized bed, and you fall onto the bed pulling me with you. We resume our kissing, but this time it is more impassioned. Our tongues begin to intertwine, a foretaste of the mixing of bodily fluids to follow. Muffled moans begin to fill the room as our animal instincts begin to overcome us.

You undo the top portion of your gown to expose a breast. Cupping it in one hand, you offer it to me to suckle. With the eagerness of a hungry babe, I take the nipple into my mouth and draw it in. The warm fullness of your breast is pleasing to me, and judging from the staggering of your breath, I believe it is the same for you. You nipple hardens in response to my tongue.

I pause for a moment so that you may slide the gown further down your body, to expose your tender belly. I plant some more kisses upon it, and massage your navel area. My mind pictures what it would be like to see me worshiping your full feminine figure this way. I am sure it would be as splendid to behold as a fine work of art.

We remove the gown from the rest of your body to reveal in its pure luminance. I must taste you, savor your juices. I move my head between your legs and proceed to lick the crevice ever so gently. No, I will not lap at you in a fit of frenzy. Not yet, at least. I must tease you to prepare you for greater pleasures ahead.

I run my fingers through the tuft of hair a the meeting of your thighs. I love the feel of it against my fingertips, as I lick the perimeter of your depths, dancing at the edge of the abyss. The soft, sensitive skin is moistened by the juices of my mouth. I feel you rock your pelvis against me in approval.

After many moments of gentle teasing, I pull back the folds of your skin to expose the clitoris. I slowly drag my tongue across to taste your pearl, and then move my tongue away to tease you some more. I return to wiggle my tongue into your crevice. Your wetness betrays your arousal and anticipation.

I stretch the folds a bit deeper to expose the moist pink flesh and undulate my tongue. I think of how good it will feel to feel myself inside you. Your moaning becomes more frequent and audible. I delight in knowing that you are able to let yourself go before me.

After enjoying your taste, I return to the clit. By now the moans have given way to whimpers, pleading me to take you there. I resist as much as I can. You become greedy, thrusting my face against you with your hands.

I take a strong suck to pull in the last of your juices and now lick your pearl with a vigorous pace. I put my arms around your thighs to hold them in place as I press on to finish my oral labors. I feel you grinding yourself up against me.

Your breath flattens off to a plateau as the rest of your body tenses. A crescendo of a moan emits from your mouth as the first shock wave ripples through your abdomen, bringing only partial release of the tension. A second, a third, perhaps more follow. Your mind is lost in the neural earthquake of your climax. I delight in seeing you feel the pleasure that so many women crave, but so few fully experience.

You are now breathing heavily, overcome, yet fully prepared for what is to follow. I rise from your crotch and move to your face to kiss you. My mouth still tastes of your juices, and I delight in sharing them with you, tongue-to-tongue.

My descent into the basest and most animal of desires has not totally obliterated my own human wants. Tonight, I do not want to mate with you as an animal. I want to make love with you face to face, chest to chest, belly to belly, groin to groin.

My attention to your needs has left me very aroused, and my hardness cleaves the folds of your moist flesh easily. I slide myself into you as deeply as I can, to feel the warmth tighten around the shaft. I place my hands on the bed, on either side of you as we look at each other. You matter only to me as I to you. Our frigid spouses are distant memories.

You wrap your thighs around me to find an angle pleasing to your senses, and without so much of a word, I see that you are ready. I begin to thrust slowly in and out of you. Your juices ease the reciprocating flow of mine into yours, yet leaving enough friction to begin my own climb to the summit.

The bed squeaks with each passing thrust. Incoherent grunts and moans betray the abandon with which we unite. We press on for what seems like an slice of eternity. I refuse to part with the tension so easily, despite the hard driving rhythm. The ambient room air is comfortable, but the heat of our intimacy has brought a glisten of sweat on our bodies.

I feel the tightening of the skin that envelops the font and source of my seed. It has been long since I have found release. I feel it drawing nearer. Sensing this, you tighten your legs ever harder around me, leaving me no choice but to fire my juices deep inside you.

The pitch of my voice raises, as you beckon me to give you my all. As the outcome becomes inevitable, I utter a primal growl. The first spurt issues from me as I call your name. The seed continues to flow in a thick white river, spurting deep within you.

Spent, I lower my body against yours to kiss you and tell you how much I have longed to be this close to you. I run my fingers through your now disheveled brown hair. As I limpen, I withdraw from you and lay next to you in a spooning position.

The feeling of completeness and satisfaction is incomparable. We talk of our regrets that this time together could not last longer. I am tempted to fall asleep next to you, but I realize that this risks the suspicion of a wife who awaits at home. With another couple of hours left before the bookstore closes, I shower with you to clean ourselves up. We part ways with a good-night kiss, and a hope that our paths will cross once again soon.

I return to the coffee bar of my favorite bookstore, order up a double espresso, and begin to get some much needed work done. You have restored zeal to my life, and for that I am grateful.