Meeting Me

I'm at baggage claim, delirious from a redeye flight beside a screaming child, my head pounding agonized withdrawal from the caffeine I wasn't supposed to have. Desperately I search the salamander of crawling luggage for my red bag . . . or is it black? I can't remember! Where is my claim ticket? Oh Jeezus it's not in my pocket!

Then I look up and my pounding heart stops.

It's you.

Your serene face brings a calmness flowing through me. I stand there dumbfounded, sighing. Suddenly my hand reaches out of its own volition and - like magic - the handle of my red bag is right there. I pull it from the conveyor and realize that I was stressed over nothing. I hope you didn't notice my little internal freakout.

I put my arms around you. "What're you doing here in Vegas?" I ask. "How did you know I'd be here?"

You say nothing. With a smile and a tip of your head I know I should follow you. I put one arm around your shoulder as we walk together. People are staring at you, but I'm so overcome with happiness I don't realize why. The Nevada desert is about a hundred degrees today and everyone, including me, is wearing shorts and T-shirts. You are wearing a full-length trench coat and sandals. Everyone in the airport has guessed that underneath the coat you are naked. A few people try to avert their gazes even as their eyes track your every move, curious about any glimpse they might catch.

You have a sporty rental waiting just outside, though somehow I don't notice if it's a Mustang or a Miata. The trunk pops open as we approach . . . I was too distracted by the sleek curves of your bare calves to see your hand touch the remote. As I drop in my bag you slip into the driver's seat and start the engine. I slide into the passenger seat, and without a word you grasp the gearshift and we're off.

I don't know anything about Las Vegas. Mystified by blazing lights and fantasy trappings, I gaze about in wonder. But my sightseeing is interrupted by your hand slipping over to feel my arm. You smile approvingly as you explore me: bicep, tricep, deltoid. At a stoplight you place your hand on my firm chest and sigh. So that's how it's going to be.

I'm surprised when I see the name of the hotel where I'm supposed to stay, and doubly surprised when you whip your car into its parking garage. Apparently you have deductive powers beyond my fathoming.

When you kill the engine the doors automatically unlock. But as I reach for my door handle you press a button and with a *thunk* my door is locked once again. I turn to you quizzically. You grasp my hand and guide it. Suddenly I draw a sharp breath.

Beneath the trench coat your body is, indeed, naked.

You nod, step out of the car, and walk away. As you disappear into the hazy darkness I hear a *click* and the trunk pops open for me. Mesmerized, I retrieve my bag and head for the hotel's front desk alone.

Minutes later I am in line to check in when I notice heads turning and and people murmuring. I'm sure you must have entered the lobby. I follow their gazes past towering potted plants and Goliath-sized chandeliers to see you strutting across the massive chamber. Las Vegas is teeming with half-nude women, but somehow no one can resist gazing upon the woman they know to be naked under trench coat. Are they wondering, as I am, how the firm fabric feels as it rubs your nipples?

Of course you knew I would carry my own luggage without asking a bellhop, so when I stroll alone up to my room I'm not surprised to see the trench-coated beauty waiting outside my door. "Hi there," I say, with only a handfull of my brain cells wondering how you knew my room number before I did. In response you pull the key card from my hand and open my door.

Inside you click the deadbolt locked, then grab the handle of my red bag and fling it like a discus across the room. Apparently I won't be needing its contents. You pull the bottom of my T-shirt and I raise my arms to help you remove it. For a moment you examine my firm muscles with a critical eye, then you point at my shorts and then the floor. Obediently I slip them to my feet and kick them away. I'm standing naked before you.

You nod your head toward the bathroom and I follow. You reach into the shower, start a warm hiss of water, and turn to face me. Then very slowly, starting at the top button, you begin to undo your trench coat. The sight of your gradually revealed body makes my heart thunder, and by the time the coat slips gently to the floor I have produced a ramrod for you. My body has been your accomplice, responding exactly as you planned.

You take my hand and step a sultry pointed toe into the shower. My eyes follow your every curve as you enter the stream. I study one drop as it splats onto your body and becomes part of the sheen flowing over you. When I die I want to go like that water drop, glistening and spreading myself all across your flesh.

I hop in behind you, my lumbering legs awkward compared to the sultry grace of yours. I reach for the soap but you slap my hand and grab it yourself. You start working up a lather on me, quickly sliding your fingertips over every inch of my body. You know I'm already excited beyond the point of foreplay so your fingers work their magic half for cleaning, half for tantalizing.

"Mmmm . . ." I say every time your fingers soap up one of my intimate pleasure points. Within a minute you've made me say "Mmmm . . ." a dozen times.

When you have my body thoroughly lathered, you grab the shower head and aim it at my face, my chest, my back . . . rinsing my body section by section. The mixture of soap and sweat and dirt flows down my body, swirling for a moment as suds around your bare feet. We aren't even touching, yet those suds feel like an erotic, intimate connection between us.

When I am squeaky clean you place the bar of soap in my hands and arch your back, offering me your breasts. I soap you tenderly, joyfully, reveling in the thrill I feel whenever I touch you or even dream of touching you. I think it's my turn to stimulate you and I begin to work my soapy fingers slowly down your back. But suddenly you smack my hands, the soap sails through the steam and is immediately forgotten. You turn away from me and bend toward the shower head. You place one hand on the front wall of the shower stall. Your other hand reaches between your legs and grasps my hard member. Leaving no question about your intentions, you guide me to the lips of your moist entrance.

In the hour since my plane landed you haven't spoken a word, but as I stand poised to penetrate you I realize that words would only distract from this beautiful message you've choreographed. We want each other, and in that sacred moment we take each other. I grasp your hips and slip gently inside you. Your muscles clench tight about me, so tight that it takes several luxurious thrusts before I am completely embedded in you. While I work my way deeper, you place both hands against the shower stall and bend forward, fully offering your haunches to me.

As the shimmering water washes over us we relish each other's bodies. At this angle I'm exploring a point deep inside you that is seldom visited, and you're tilting your hips subtly to indulge that spot in all the attention it needs. I feel that I am in heaven, that I am experiencing the most perfect moment of my life. I feel like I'm maintaining a stead rhythm but that is a delusion; in reality I have been steadily speeding my pace. More and more of my muscles join the task as I give in to the need to put my full vigor into the lovemaking. I vaguely realize this perfection can't last much longer, but silly me doesn't know that you have plans beyond my imagination.

It takes me by surprise when the shower water suddenly shuts off and you pull away at just the right moment. You turn around to face me, somehow producing two towels in your hands. One towel you fling at me. With the other you dry my shoulders and it is clear that I am to dry your body in return. I begin to pad you gently, occasionally pressing my lips to sip a few drops of the delicious moisture from your skin.

Just as I think I understand my job you snatch the towel from my hand and spring into the bedroom. I follow cautiously, my erection a heavy load making my stride clumsy and a little humorous. You point to the bed and I immediately lie down on my side, gazing at you. You press my shoulder to put me squarely on my back, then step onto the bed and straddle my face.

My mouth reaches hungrily for you but you hover above me a few seconds, tantalizing me with your savory aroma. At last you grace those soft nether lips against my mouth. With the tip of my tongue I can sense your pleasure and my own lust becomes complete. My hands grasp your supple buttocks and my tongue penetrates you, seeking sweet nectar from its very source. I wonder if you can feel the tiny taste buds that are exploring you. Your hands clasp my head, guiding me for your pleasure, and I think to myself, 'Yes, she feels everything.'

Again I immerse myself in my role. My tongue laps playfully at your clit, knowing it will stimulate your body to produce more honey for me. When I can sense your juice flowing I work my lips down to drink it from you in tiny sips. I repeat this ritual numerous times, lick a while, sip a while, lick again, sip again. I would happily keep it up all night. But just as you reach the point of being more moist and delicious that you have ever been before, suddenly your inner thighs squeeze gently against my face and you rise slowly away from me. You inch down my body and lower your mouth to meet mine, and as we share that perfect sweetness lingering on my lips . . . you mount me.

You are so hot and wet that lightning bolts crash through me. Your hands press my firm chest to hold me down as you seek the perfect tempo of your pleasure. Your hips rise as fall as you ride me, feeling me, experiencing me, taking your ecstasy from me. Your pace grows steadily faster and more urgent as you draw me inside you. Without breaking the rhythm, you grasp my hands and place them on your breasts. To my palms they are perfect, warm and soft and jiggly. I play with your nipples and marvel as a fire radiates from them across your body.

You start moaning. I've heard your sexy moan before, but this sound is a wale of unearthly passion. It's coming from a private, unexplored place so deep inside you that it may never have been released before. The pressure in your core has long ago overwhelmed you, yet somehow it keeps building. In a desperate quest for relief you grind your clit frantically against my firm abdomen.

Here it comes . . .

As we reach our pinnacle together I am moaning in harmony with you. Writhing and bucking together, our formerly clean bodies are now drenched with sweat. We are both drained and thirsty. When you collapse against me our lips meet and we slake our thirst by kissing moisture from each other's mouths.

Of course we snuggle. Maybe we doze off together, both vaguely aware that I am still inside you. Time itself has the courtesy to wait for our bodies to catch up with reality. We oblige and close our eyes, listening to each other's pounding hearts and sighing breath.

Eventually I whisper, "Wow . . . Welcome to Las Vegas."

You put a finger across my lips to shush me, then you speak the only four words I hear from you. "Next time, Miami Beach."

THE END