We prepare for bed, make love and sleep naked. The blinds on our bedroom windows are always open. The windows face a very private backyard; there is only one house behind ours and it is very distant. Yet, if anyone wants to stand in our back yard at night and look up, they can see us naked, walking around getting ready for bed. I don't think there is much to see because our room is on the second floor. Her breasts are gorgeous, and certainly would attract the attention of a voyeur, but it seems to me that little else of interest would be visible looking up from the ground into our room. Nonetheless, I do sometimes wonder if we are being observed and even fantasize about the possibility.
We watch television in bed before going to sleep. The lights are turned off and the room is softly lit from the flickering glow of the television tube. Before making love, one of us will press the mute button on the TV remote and the sudden quiet enables the sounds of the great outdoors to be heard through our windows. Some nights are stormy, loud and unsettling; on these nights, the wind shakes our windows and thunder claps can be heard from near or afar. Storms do not disrupt our passion, but rather, set a different mood, hastening the pace and intensity of our lovemaking. Fortunately, most nights are not violent and the sounds of the outdoors are more subtle. Rain is always pleasant and the gentle pitter patter comforts us, even excites us as we embrace. But, with rain, we become melancholy and fall into a mood inspiring slow, gentle love making. And the many deadly still nights are strangely erotic too. These are the nights when only the crickets and an occasional bark of a dog can be heard. Tonight is such a night, a hot, sultry August night in Georgia.
The sounds of nature are now lost, drowned out by passion. Her guttural noises fascinate and thrill me. Building slowly to a crescendo, each moan gets a little louder than the last, peaks, then gradually subsides until reduced to a gentle whimper. This pattern repeats itself with the peaks getting noticeably closer together as her passion grows. At last, these mini-climaxes become one and her long, loud shrill fills me with joy and wonderment. We are one, blended together physically and spiritually, as our bodies relax and go limp molded one to the other. I often wonder what it is like for her. I'll never know, she says, because of my maleness. It's difficult to explain and I wouldn't understand anyway, she tells me. It doesn't matter; the sound of her pleasure is always music to my ears. The more and the louder, the greater my excitement and the more I want my maleness to remain inside of her forever.
But, inevitably, I must withdraw. I console myself by caressing her body, gently and slowly running my fingers and palms from head to toe. I notice my touches are now affecting her differently, as her eyelids close and her breathing becomes heavy. Men are often accused of rolling over and falling asleep prematurely, but not this man. It is she who soon sleeps while I bask in the euphoria of afterglow. If I smoked, I would light up now. Instead, I turn off the TV and the room fills with darkness.
We are stranded in the wilderness of a Louisiana bayou. Our airboat engine broke down and we are miles from civilization. Nightfall is fast approaching and we are in desperate need of shelter. Our clothes are wet, torn and filthy. We are miserable and sweating profusely, partly due to fear and partly because of the oppressive heat and humidity. Tomorrow, a search team will find us (at least, that's what I tell her), but for now, we are all alone in a dangerous place with only alligators to keep us company. After searching for miles, we finally stumble upon a deserted cabin. We break in the front door and soon collapse on a small bed found in a corner of the one room cabin. We fall asleep and awake hours later, revived and grateful to have a roof over our heads.
She turns on her side, inviting me to spoon. I am much taller, but she has a womanly shape which makes the fit just right. I slip one arm under her pillow to get it out of the way and, with the other wrapped around her, I cup her breast. Our knees connect perfectly, the front of mine to the back of hers. My penis pushes into the crack of her buttocks and, though satisfied, grows slightly. Her back is securely pressed against my chest and my lips are free to kiss her neck and shoulders. She turns her head toward me and we exchange kisses on the mouth and words of love.
I am awake and stare out the bare windows. Each night, as I hold her tightly against me, I am fascinated by the differing views and take note of the fact that this is one of those very dark nights, when the moon is hidden and reflects only the slightest amount of light back to my little spot on planet Earth. There is just enough moonlight for me to see the faint shadows of trees in the distance and nothing else, just darkness. And it is quiet, but I can still discriminate distinct sounds, such as the crickets, the hum of the overhead fan, the occasional creak of the house and, my favorite, the sound of her breath. Now, slower, deeper and more audible, it has become the dominate sound of the night.
It is pitch black and nearly two o'clock in the morning according to the position of the reflective hands on my watch. We slept soundly for nearly five hours, both of us totally exhausted from our ordeal. With no light source available to us, we realize there is nothing we can do to improve our plight until morning light. We talk for awhile, especially about strategies for being found, so we can be rescued. We also speculate about the cabin: Who owns it? Will they return soon? Will they be mad?
Our sweat-soaked clothes are uncomfortable, so we remove them. Not being able to see her, but aroused by the thought of her nakedness, I now desire her sexually. After all, we are a man and a woman, lost in the wilderness, in love, alone, stranded in bed, surrounded by darkness. What else is there to do? Nothing, I decide after two or three microseconds of serious contemplation.
Not fully recovered from the physicality of loving, I am hot and her body pressing against mine heightens the sensation. I roll on my back and push the covers off me, while carefully keeping her covered. She gets cold easily, even in the summer, and I don't want to spoil the moment by causing her to get agitated. Now, I am aware of a new sensation as the breeze from the overhead fan caresses my exposed body and causes the sweat to evaporate from my skin. This has a wonderful cooling effect that seems to instill new life in me. My skin tingles with delight and even arousal. I need her next to me now, so I pull the covers up and once again resume our intimate embrace. I caress and kiss all of the parts of her body I can reach in this our standard after-play position.
Sometimes, my brain sends false signals to my body; or, maybe, it's the other way around. I'm not sure which it is, but I find myself once again sexually excited even though we just finished making love. She has that effect on me. I have always been drawn to her sexually in a powerful way, but my feelings certainly transcend sex. It was love at first sight years ago and my love has only grown deeper over time. This, coupled with the fact that my emotions and my genitals are hard wired, causes some sort of bodily confusion to take over. I am not young any more and a second release is not necessary and, probably, not even possible. Yet, in spite of this physical limitation, my emotional need for her grows stronger with each passing minute.
