Where We Want to Be

On holidays, I like driving into the parking lots of big stores, just to be the only car in the lot, to see the dark-eyed windows, to see how no one goes in and out the doors.

The snow falls to the asphalt, breezes across it like a specter.

For one day, every large and bumbling thing is still, silent things able to be heard all the noise and clamor limited to within houses. Houses with bright lights, candles lit, food smoldering scents thick as slabs of bacon and cheese, and if anyone is fighting, hitting, ranting, it is only within the confines of the house.

In the parking lot, there is silence. Just silence.

This is what I like about holidays.

If I could, I would spend every holiday inside my house screwing. I would stay inside with only one other person and fuck all day. Fucking is the only reminder I need on a holiday that I am alive. I don’t need anything else.

Where I would like to be on Thanksgiving? Alone, in a room, with you. With cigarettes, juice and water, fruit and cheese and some kind of canned meat that tastes good with a loaf of bread. Maybe a bottle of wine. Maybe two. And coffee. Because if there is time for nothing else, there will be time for coffee and cigarettes, cigarettes and wine.

And then, the only other thing needed, is our bodies. One. Two. Male. Female. In this case, because this is the only case I personally know.

The introduction would be brief, because on these days, who wants to talk. If you are not already in some place of social propriety, there is no propriety needed. There is only want. Only willingness. We do not have to do, in this place, anything we don’t want to, but just the things that we desire. And in this place, we have decided, what we desire is the touch and the scent of each other.

There is a kiss, at the door, in the beginning, before all the bags and sweaters or coats are put down on the floor, on the table, on the sofa, wherever. It is a telling kiss. A willing kiss. A longing kiss. For sure, it is one of many, but is the one that says ‘yes, we have made it, we have made it, into this place’, and we are relieved’-- the melancholic version of glad.

And that relief turns into a certain kind of joy, as the clothes fall to the floor, as the hands explore the bodies connected to the words, aligned with the faces, and now, for this time, the words hardly matter, because they can be spoken in person, or felt with the touch.

Your hands touch my flesh and I do quiver. I take in the sight of your eyes, your face when you do touch me. I almost smile, and sigh, as I return the favor, but I am really tracing ever part of you to remember this, when I am alone again, when you are not here, and there are, again, only words and pictures. The tone of your skin, the feel of it, the smell of it, the way it moves, with curves and bends and creases, with everything that defines you as real.

I cannot hear what you say when I do this, because you are doing the same with me, and my legs are wobbly, I can barely stand, so I lean into you, my breasts pressed against your chest, the coarse hairs of my sex crinkling against you, the wetness from my pussy beginning to ooze from between its lips onto your thigh.

You reach down and touch me there, rubbing your fingers against the lips, first out of curiosity, then slipping your fingers in further, between the lips, because it is the thing to do.

My nose is pressed against the patch of skin between your chest and your armpit, and I move my hips to allow your fingers to go where they wish. They dip into my wetness and move, back and forth against the sides of the island of my lips, where my clit is—that little member with the skin around it getting swollen, thicker, more erect. You do everything but touch it, then take you hand away, but before you can do anything else, I take your arm, by your wrist, and raise those fingers to my mouth. I look you full in the eyes and suck them, slowly, one by one, tasting my wetness on your fingers, and I see your eyes glaze over with desire.

I keep your hand in mine as we walk over to lay down on the bed. It is still tousled from your sleeping there last night. The sheets are cool, but soft, broken in. On my side, the top sheet is crumpled up behind me, into a heap, and bending like some horrible head over my hips. You move the top sheet away, pushing it back to the end of the mattress, then smooth your hands over my reclined figure, following the curves methodically. I close my eyes, and wait, the warmth of your hands counterpoised to the cool air of the room. I open my eyes, and you are closer to me, and we meet each other with another kiss, long and soulful, tongues probing deeply, sucking quietly, softly, but with insistence. I bite on your neck, ever so gently, and you nestle your hands around my ass, pulling me towards you so that my leg is over yours, then with one quick movement, pull me underneath you.

Before you lower yourself over me, I reach up and grab your hips, holding them to me, guiding them upward, so that your cock is over my face. It isn’t dangling. It is stiff, and somewhat resistant to movement. You realize what I am after and allow your body to be lowered as my tongue reaches out to lick the tip of your cock. I am not the only one who is wet.

As the tip of my tongue plays at the tip of your cock, the lubrication oozing from the tiny hole stretches and lingers then falls onto my cheek, whatever I don’t lick back into my mouth. By then, you are kneeling, your thighs at either side of my head. I run my fingers over your ass-cheek and feel it tremble, then press you down, so that your cock slides into my mouth. My nose is nestled into your pubic hair, and I breathe in softly, then close my mouth over your cock tightly, saliva exuding from the pores of my mouth to meet it.

Your legs become weak, but for a while, you let me suck you like this. I like it this way because I can hold your balls one at a time, in my small hand, or hold them both together and rub them gently. I scratch my fingers behind them, feeling the soft skin there, the warmth, and collecting more of the scent of you underneath them. I wonder, as I do this, if I will ever wash my hands again, or how I can save this, this smell of you?

But when you cannot bear anymore-- or would like to, but decide against it, you nudge me to release you, and roll over, onto your back, pulling me onto you.

My breasts hang heavy, into your face, as I lean forward a bit. You rub your palms against my nipples. They are hard, crinkled, dark brown, like chocolate Kisses with creases melted in from the wrapper. Your hands balance the weight of my breasts in your hands, then you choose one, and take the nipple into your mouth, licking, sucking, pressing your face into the soft flesh.

This makes me squirm, this makes me feel more of that tingle I felt when we had never seen each other before. I groan. I sigh. My hips move unconsciously against yours, my pussy rubbing clumsily against your cock which is lying somewhere indirectly in your lap. Your lips uncover one nipple and take in another, then hold both, squeezing them, and I feel as though I am about to cum. And I do. And it surprises you, that I would cum without having been touched below my waist. But rather than wonder, you reach down, feeling the clear, viscous fluid I have left on your pubic area, and stroke it over your cock. I raise my body, feeling your hand near by, and you press the tip of your cock to my cunt. I press down, feel the resistance of the head against the opening muscles of my pussy, then press harder, feeling the little inward pop of flesh against flesh, the stretching that is excruciatingly arousing, and we both groan as we feel you sinking upward into me.

You place your hands on my hips as ride you, slowly, in a manner that is not quite vertical, nor quite horizontal. It is all concentrated on that space, as if it is the center of the universe, that place where you and I meet. I close my eyes, then open them, looking into your face, your lips slightly parted, words I can’t quite decipher slipping out from between them. My words are not words either. Simple sounds, too simple to be utterances skipping from the back of my throat, interchanged with a sigh, or, yes, more moaning. I arch my back, then contract it, and then arch it again. My nipples stand erect, your hands cover them, squeeze them, then they go back to my hips, then to my belly, then back to my hips as I rub my pussy against the veins and the skin of your cock, massaging them as I move back and forth on that turgid rod of your flesh with all of the juices I am so full of in that moment.

All of those juices. I push down on your cock and they collect inside me, at the head of your cock. I pull up, ever so slightly, with very little of your rod exposed, and those juices rush down and out of me, making your thighs glisten. I have cum again, in several minor tremors, and here again, is another, as I quicken the pace, sensing it coming on, gripping the length and width of you inside that tight, hot, hole and grinding against you, moving forward and backward on your stiffness ever so slightly, but certainly. You feel the contractions of the muscles and I cry out, just as my cum gushes over your cock still deep within me. I fall on you. We rest, just for a moment, enough for me to recover, but not become totally lucid. Then you sit up. Your cock slides out of me with a “plop”. It is almost bouncing, reluctantly, in the air. It is dark reddish purple, shining with my clear cum. I resist the urge to take it in my mouth as you pull me onto all fours, facing away from the head of the bed.

You kneel behind me and stay very quiet. Your hands are on my ass, smoothing your palms over them, squeezing them. I feel your hands trail up my back, smoothing over it. I quiver, partly from the air of the room, partly from the sensation of your touching me. You slap your hand against one ass cheek, not hard, not a real slap, but as if to get the measure of how firm it is. You groan. I can tell you are pleased. I breathe deep, waiting.

With one hand, you reach under me, gripping my left breast. With the other, I feel you guiding your stiff cock into my pussy from behind, gasping as you push against the tightness of the muscles. The head is in, and you let it rest there for a second, hearing me moan. Then, feeling dizzy from the sight of me bent before you that way, my back and my ass are exposed to you, you thrust the rest of your cock into me.

I whimper. You groan. You squeeze my breasts, as if to still them from swaying underneath me as you pump slowly in and out. You settle into a comfortable rhythm, fucking me this way as your eyes take in the softness of my smooth, brown body, slowly gaining a familiarity.

We stay in this rhythm for a while. It is as if we have no where else to go, nothing else to do. Your hands move from my breasts and up to my shoulders, gripping them firmly, but gently. When you thrust forward into my cunt, you pull my body back to you from this grip of my shoulders. You look down and watch my round ass quiver ever so slightly as you pound into me. You release my shoulders for a bit, and let me push my ass back at you. I imagine your arms and hands are resting at your side, your head tilted to one side as you watch my ass move back to fuck your cock this way, keeping the same rhythm you kept.

Your hands are on my shoulders again. Our bodies meet each other at the pelvis with a thud. When you up-thrust, there is the sound of suction, of all my juices being divided among your thighs and my thighs and ass. When you push in, a squishing sound.

And then, after partaking in this slow, methodical, exploratory fuck, you begin to thrust harder, not as much watching as feeling. Pounding, poking. I feel as if your cock has rings as it moves in an out of me, and it is bringing on another orgasm. The faster you thrust, the more the nerves in my cunt spike. You are grunting now. Holding my shoulders until it almost hurts me, pounding into me hard until my whole body is shaking forward. Your thrusts are seeking that place that makes your cock feel best, and I like this. Faster, harder, more upward, then centered against the walls of my cervix, then downward and back again, all pounding into me, all making my ass quiver, my body shake; The bed is squeaking, anything on the table on either side of us is falling.

You bear down on me, as if you are sitting on my ass, and I feel it. I hear it in your voice, but I feel it. You are the one crying out, a long, growling, gasping cry, still pumping, cock twitching, and warmth filling me. Slippery and warm, still pumping in and out of my cunt, still, and still groaning, gasping. I moan softly, hold my cunt muscles tight, as if to milk the last drop of cum from your cock. You feel this and shudder, then, as your orgasm subsides, you lay on my back. I let my legs collapse from under me and let you lay over me, covering my body with yours. Your hands first spread out and then, one hand is placed on my ass as your cock slips out of me and my pussy is swollen, humming, but is beginning to feel cold.

But your body, laying on me, is warm.