The dream begins with perfect clarity, of thought and atmosphere, touch and taste and colour so sharp it burns into my consciousness...
We are, I think, in Goa, or another holiday place - just the two of us.
We have a hotel room, and we've checked into it, but we haven't been here longer than is necessary to put down our things and go out. It's evening and we're returning. You're wearing a red spaghetti top, white shorts and a yellow cap with a little peak. Your feet are bare -- as you climb the stairs before me I see them clearly. I don't know whether you left your footwear somewhere or you chose to go out barefoot. I think the latter, somehow; this is what make me think we're in a holiday place where it is OK to go out without shoes.
Today we arrived, I know, and we will stay for several days. And tonight we're going to make love for the first time. I know this, you know this. Even as we climb the stairs our anticipation builds. You have the key, you unlock the door. We enter, and you snap the lights on. There are bright fluorescent lamps, but you put on the dimmer yellow lamps in holders high up near the ceiling, so that the room is lighted by an amber glow. There is a large bed with a cream or pale pink bedspread, and a light coloured carpet partly covering the floor. On one side there is a large mirror. Heavy drapes cover the windows.
As soon as I shut the door behind us, fumbling for the latch, you are in my arms. You throw yourself on me, wrapping your arms about my chest, raising your face to mine for me to kiss your mouth. The peak of the cap comes in the way, I can feel it crumpling against my forehead. With an impatient gesture, you reach up, pull it off, and fling it on to a chair. Your lips purse and plant a little rosebud-kiss on mine.
My hands are on your shoulders, at your back. I stroke the curve of your back through the cloth of your top. I trace the dimple of the small of your back. Your hands are urgently at the back of my head, pulling my face down to yours. I taste the salt of a bead of sweat on your lips. Your tongue meets mine, a tiny electric shock as the tips touch. We are still standing just inside the door. You stand on my feet -- you're barefoot, so it doesn't make it too difficult to walk with you till the bed. You let go of me, sit back on the bed with a sigh and smile up at me. You raise a hand and reach out to me, and when I hold the hand you pull me down to you.
You push me on my back on the mattress, so I'm half sitting, and half lying, and then you swing yourself over and straddle my chest. You're smiling, looking down at me, and you reach down and begin to pull my t-shirt up over my chest. I lift my head and you pull it off over my head, and as I raise my arms you remove it entirely and throw it away. You bend forward from the waist and begin kissing all over my upper torso, as much as you can reach. Your hands, too, wander over my body, grasping, rubbing. I feel my erection begin.
I push myself up so I am sitting now, you're now kneeling across my lap, and to save yourself from falling off you throw your arms round my neck. Your head falls back and I kiss the centre of your throat, lick down the line of your neck muscles. You swing yourself to one side, not letting go of my neck, so you end sprawling on your back and pull me down to you. Through your top I can feel your breasts rise against my chest. I kiss your forehead, your eyes.
"Let me take your shoes and pants off," you say. I roll over on my back, and in an instant I can feel your hands at my laces. In another moment they are easing off my shoes and my socks, the fingers running down the line of my soles lightly, enough to torment me with tickles. But you are too impatient to spend too much time tickling my feet just yet. You unbuckle my belt, pulling through the loops so quickly that it catches and I have to lift my hips so it finally comes off. You undo the hooks at the waist of my trousers, pull the zippers down and then draw my pants off. I'm now completely naked except for my underpants and my watch. I remove the watch, myself, and as I put it aside you throw yourself on me, lying down on top of me and letting your hands explore my body all over. You still have your clothes on. I push my hands under the back of your top, roll it up and over your head, and pull it down and off in front, so that your breasts are the last to be released, the cloth cups holding them in to the last before they pop out and touch my chest. You rotate your chest, using your nipples to trace circles on my chest. It drives me half crazy. I reach down and cup the dangling globes of your small breasts, holding them away from myself. You reach down and take my hands off your breasts, and then clasp me to your body, so that your breasts are squashed tight against my chest. Your face nuzzles the hollow of my neck and shoulder. I feel your tongue lick my collar bone.