We were well met. I can say that for sure.
After months of continuous contact on-line though emails and instant messages, we finally arranged to meet. She arrived in town late that morning and we spent the day together with yours truly playing tour guide. We ate lunch at a local favorite, saw lemurs at the zoo and went for a walk around the lake. It was a wondrous day, and we talked about everything and nothing, continuing the theme of many of our on-line conversations.
Eventually we wound back up at my place late in the evening, and had a few drinks. We retired to the bedroom, and lay on the bed together, discussing life, the universe and everything. Weight of the world kinda stuff. I don't recall now what I said, but it was mildly amusing, and she laughed. I told her I loved the sound of her laugh. She got very quiet very suddenly, leaned in and kissed me.
Then I kissed her back. It started very slowly, very softly. As if we were both interested in where this path would lead, but weren't sure we wanted to tread it. Kisses, first fleeting and hesitant, turned passionate and needy. We probed each others lips, afraid to cross a line that wasn't there, and it soon gave way to those great movie kisses—the ones where even in the audience you feel the need to come up for air.
My hands moved from her face, to her neck, to her back. I would alternate guiding and holding, unsure of what I wanted more: The physical closeness of her, or to be acting on the passion. She made the first "move", pulling away just long enough to pull my shirt over my head, sending my glasses flying... She was wearing a white blouse, like a puffy pirate shirt, but not. I fumbled with the drawstrings on the front; finally got them loosed enough to pull it up and over her head.
My hands found their way to her chest, caressing the side of one breast, then the other. She wore a very pretty bra that just barely kept things in place, and trembled beneath my touch, her breath coming in ragged bursts. She looked deep into my eyes, deeper than anyone has ever dared gaze before, with an intensity that scared me.
I asked if she was okay, did she want to stop.
God, how I did NOT want to ask that question.
The last shreds of my sanity were hanging on, hoping their services would not be necessary. She pressed herself against my body—I could feel every curve of her—and whispered in my ear, "If you love me, then love me."
A line from a book we both loved.
I nuzzled her neck, the beautiful flesh and lines. Her hands went for the clasp of my jeans. I'd never felt more wanted in my life, and like a movie, there was no struggle. She twisted and pulled and they opened obediently. Suddenly her hands were in my pants. I was kissing my way across her shoulder when I felt her hands on me, and the sharp intake of my breath on her skin made her squirm.
I grasped the strap of her bra and slowly slid it off her shoulder, kissing the trail of it across her flesh. First one, then the other. I did struggle with the clasp, (so much for the movies) but for only a moment. It let loose with a distinct SNIK. The snow white material slowly fell away, and I pulled back to admire her. All I could do was smile, she was so beautiful. So perfect. I told her so, and she blushed, the heat rising in her face.
She rose to her knees, and I slid the crushed gauze material of her skirt down, past her hips revealing more classic lines of beautiful flesh. I have always admired the female form, the sheer nature of it. Looking at her, kneeling naked on my bed was looking at a painting, a sculpture, a goddess made flesh. Every line, every curve, every angle, the light, the texture. It was every beautiful female form rolled into one living, breathing woman.
