One Night

She was reading her book on children. And I was reading the Economist. It is bedtime and we are doing our usual thing. That's how our days end; that is how we go to bed - reading.

But there is always a need to make sure that some part of me is touching some part of her and tonight is no different. Sometimes it is just shoulders touching. At other times it is a head on the shoulder. Occasionally, her tummy is my pillow. Today is was my ankle crossing hers.

Just. For the sake of being in touch.

Sleep came a lot quicker to me tonight that it did on others. Happens. One of those things. But also an unusually high need for comfort. I put the magazine away and shuffling myself lower down the bed, put my arms around her, my face in my bosom.

Silently, sweetly, she turned toward me, propping herself up on her pillows and put her book away. She is like that. My need is always more meaningful for her than anything she might be doing. She put her arms around me and pulled me close. I nosed around in her bosom, making space for myself amongst her soft, dumpling breasts.

She gently pushed me away to make space and raised her t-shirt, offering me the warmth and softness of her body. I snuggled up to her, growing faintly conscious of her unfurling nipples. But I never noticed anything more for I was fast asleep in the comfort of her arms before I knew it.

She held me like that. For god knows how long. That too, is typical of her. My need for her comfort and the desire not to disturb me more important than what she wanted to do next. Even if she wanted me, in more ways and to do more, she must have let it bubble up and subside. She is like that.

The comfort that I was looking for, the tiredness that I was felt and the way she held me: I slept so well that when I stirred in my sleep in the middle of the night, I was already fresh.

Her breasts were still in my face. I kissed them. Tender as ever. And I began my ministrations. The nipples arose and resumed what I had noticed while drifting asleep. I took them between my lips, gently, not wanting to startle her. I just held her in my mouth and stayed that way till I was able to suckle on her like her baby.

She stirred and was now moving against me, urging me on and pressing herself against me. I fed on her till she wanted to be fed in more ways than just that.

Then I pushed her back and rose on top of her. I took her. It was effortless and smooth, like she had been ready for me all night. She shivered and rose up to meet me.

We clung to each other as we created a storm that had not existed minutes before. It gathered in crescendo and became a raging need that had to be tamed. The strokes became furious and feverish as we worked each other for release; I for her release and she for mine.

And when it came the release was simultaneous, together. We grabbed and felt for each other in the throes of our pleasure. Fingers clutching, nails scratching, toes entangling the other's toes and faces caressing.

The calm swept over us in seconds and we were at peace. The film of perspiration blended, like the rest of us that already was an amalgam. I shuddered as I felt waves of aftershocks. My heart was thumping wildly. I rested on her. And my chest was against hers. I could feel the heart within her pound, too. It pounded as if it was searching out my heartbeat against her chest.

We lay like that. Sensing each other and feeling. Feeling other so softly, tenderly and completely seems to happen only in the aftermath of passions.

I do not know when the heartbeats subsided to normal. I do not know when we calmed down completely. I do not know when we separated. I do not know when I slept; or she did.

All I know is she was intertwined with me all night and I felt her, smelt her and sensed her all through. It was like she never left me for a moment and that I had lived inside of her all through that beautiful night.

And so it was a great surprise that when I woke up, there was only I. There was no sign of her. No sign indeed that anyone had been with me at all.

And just when I started to wonder if it had all been a dream, I spotted the rose she had left for me. Just on the other side of her pillow. Just where I would find it; but only if I looked for her.