"What would you like to do to me?"
I crawled into his lap and gazed up at him with wide innocent eyes.
He stared at me in silence, looking torn between fleeing and devouring me.
We had flirted and teased for a while, being subtle enough to keep our egos protected, while still leaving open the opportunity for the other to respond.
I finally got him back to my place and onto the couch. But he did nothing. The feeling between us was palpable - the desire and heat. There was no doubt what we both wanted, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.
Again, the question had left open a range of responses - but the only thing I wanted to hear was some variation of his desire to tear off my clothes and violate me in a dozen different ways.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and began nuzzling his earlobe - gently licking and giving it a brief bite. I could feel his breathing speed up and his hand tighten on my thigh.
I sensed his torment as he struggled with propriety and his growing passion. With a sigh of impatience, I put my tongue in his mouth and pulled him on top of me. I could feel his erection as he ground himself against me and knew that I had silenced his internal debate.
Once he made the decision to continue, he no longer showed any signs of hesitation. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once - squeezing my breasts, pulling my shirt out from my jeans...
A moment like this is indescribable, coupled with a touch of surreality. To have wanted and fantasized about this experience so often and so vividly, adds a dream-like quality to each touch and sound.
For a moment there was doubt that the reality could compare to the countless climaxes created by the fantasy. But as the heat and wetness continued to build I knew that such a comparison was not only unnecessary, but also ridiculous. For in none of my most wanton daydreams did I capture the essence of what this man could do to me.
My imaginings were merely a tantalizing taste of the ambrosia that was being offered before me.
He continued to caress my skin and began to slowly undress me. Agonizing how he drew out each moment- not merely to savour it, but also to torture me with his seeming patience in the face of my eagerness.
He lingered over each curve and crevice on my body - licking and blowing soft kisses and tracing every line. It might have been a romantic scene if I had not, by way of contrast, begun quickly tearing off his clothing with no regard for damage to the fabric or care for where each hastily flung article landed.
Perhaps it was best that I hadn't lit candles to set the "mood."
