It started innocently enough, as it always does. Curled together laughing, my head on his chest, his hand in my hair, two friends enjoying each other. Curled together in one anther's energy like a litter of playful kittens or puppies. Warm, calm, friendly wrapped up safe feeling.
We always muck it up with words. Not in the way I am used to, in fact everything about this situation is backwards. Past experience, a dozen years of it, says that mucking up with words usually leads in the opposite direction of erotic horizontal positions. For us, well, the more we talk about our fuckered situations, the more we seem to be pulled together and into each other. And onto each other, hands and mouths and thighs, but I get ahead of myself.
Some transformation takes us places when we create a circle, or even just raise energy a little bit. That inner fire we keep banked for the majority of our existence flares alive and comes crashing out and into each other. We each feed off of the other and that heat is so seductive and comforting and exciting and intoxicating and, well, glorious, I can't even try to resist.
Does he? I'm afraid to ask.
We talk. We talk about the reasons we shouldn't couldn't and won't let this wildfire crash through our lives. And then it's way too late and our lips have met and we're tasting that storm we create between us, feeding it and each other.
All these weeks I've been thinking that I surely couldn't be remembering correctly. His fingers on my neck can't be so compelling, his lips on mine can't be so intoxicating. His mouth moving on my neck and ear and back to my mouth again can't be so erotic.
And oh my God, was I lying to myself.
It is all that and worlds more besides.
His mouth gentle, then demanding, his tongue forceful but tentative at first and then drinking in my lips and crawling into me and I get lost in that taste and texture.
I become hyper-aware of his fingers on the skin of my neck, brushing my hair away. His mouth moves then from mine, trailing up my jaw line to my ear and down to my shoulder, his hand pulling the collar of my shirt aside to expose more of my skin.
I'm aching to feel the bite of his teeth, feel him hard and feeding on my flesh as we each feed on this feeling.
But he is gentle, even in his urgent caress his hands are careful, his mouth demanding but not overly forceful, hands placed lightly on me.
His skin is warm under my palms, sliding up his back, between his heat and the cotton of his shirt my hands explore his strong back, pulling him harder to me, like he needed me to confirm any more clearly how much I enjoy his exploration of me.
I'm on my back then, suddenly it seems, because I don't quite recall changing positions, the whole event is all about sensation to me, not linear time.
His lips torture my ear, his breathing harsh and so sweetly sexy in my ear, his fingers on my shoulders, in my hair.
And then fully clothed I can feel him inside me. I know it is an illusion, we are both covered in two layers of clothes at least, and still, I feel him there. Not just his obvious pleasure and arousal pushing against me through constraining denim, but honest to Goddess inside. I wrap my thighs around him just as I would if we had been bare skin to skin. And my breath catches in my throat I want so bad to cry out loud. Instead I press my mouth to his shoulder and breathe in the scent of his skin, my fingers stroking his hair and his hips rock with mine until I'm not sure if we are still clothed, still in this room or even on the same planet we started out on. Nothing at all exists except the sensation I can still feel deep inside of me.
His hardness, thighs, back, arms, makes me self consciously aware of my own softness.
Finally coming to rest, breathing hard and still holding each other, I am supremely aware of our physical differences.
