Ambers Crystalline Touch

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is about unquenchable desire. There are erotic elements, but only to aid in the telling of one character's struggle to find a meaningful connection.

This tale of longing was inspired by J; I hope she gets pleasure from it.

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I've never been fond of winter -- the snow, the cold, and all those layers; I like the feel of the sun and breeze against my skin. As cute as I may look, at my core I'm a woman who doesn't want to run naked, merrily through the snow.

My nipples would surely be hard as rocks as I pranced nude, but I'd rather they get that way from the warm touch of fingers or the soft, wet feeling of someone's tongue lapping across them.

Teeth can be nice, too.

I like the warmth and I adored my time sunning my nude body on the hot sands, but recently I'd been invited by a friend to join her on a winter skiing holiday in the mountains. She assured me that once we'd frosted ourselves on the slopes we could enjoy steamy nights in the hot tub and cozy up around the fire.

I admit that, despite my hesitation, some of it did sound inviting. But what mysterious someone would hand me my much-needed drinks while I'm there?

Perhaps this would be the one winter season I'd avoid the long stretches of nude beach and instead pack my thermals, embrace the cold, and discover how one can thaw her soul while attempting to keep her body warm.

There was also the possibility, I assured myself, that someone might ski up to our chalet and introduce me to wild, experimental sexual positions, something extremely lacking in my present state.

Okay, honestly, that had been lacking for quite a long while.

But it was definitely time for a change; nearly a year of solitude had altered my perspective and my habits.

Once I'd agreed, I made a point to pack only the skimpiest of lingerie; in my head, this tactic assured me that someone was going to have to keep my body warm during what I was convinced would be frosty nights. Amber, the one who'd extended the invitation, was an old, dear friend and I trusted she'd understand my needs; she'd been out there long enough to have met one or two new friends I might like.

It felt the time was right for a special new friend, someone intimate.

As I spread across the bed the pieces I thought best complimented my body, I couldn't resist the temptation to press the delicate fabric to my cheek. I'd been single far too long at this point and there were parts of me that openly wanted to feel the touch of another's hand. Over the years, I had developed an odd familiarity and comfort with isolation, but the desire to be touched remained.

The cool sensation of the silk against my cheek soon found its way down the length of my neck and slowly toward my ever-hardening nipples. I was such a minx; I knew I'd been alone too long; a woman with my needs couldn't resist the pull of someone's touch, especially my own.

I'd grown quite accustomed to the feel of my own hands across my body.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror as I eased the silk panties over my tits and down my stomach. It was nice watching myself and the arousal of it was invigorating.

The sunlight entered my bedroom every afternoon through the side windows and I stood just inside the edge of the light. My right hip beamed and the curve of my waist and right breast glowed.

I'd gotten out of the shower only ten minutes before and had planned to pack while I got dressed. But once the towel dropped to the floor and my hands felt the soft material of some of my favorite lingerie I began to yield to the temptation to pleasure myself.

My tits still looked great and I often got compliments on them; you should see the things I've worn just to get a rise out of the poor doorman. He seemed so lonely most days and I felt I was doing a public service by leaving an extra button or two open as I checked my mail and picked up the random package.

I'm told that men have needs too.

I'd been born blessed with a body that only made physical pleasure more desirable. At times in life, I was having sex with myself more often than with others; as I grew older, finding someone with the delicate balance of touch and understanding had proven to be difficult.

That afternoon as I stood naked in front of the mirror, I felt impulsive, so I reached for the small bottle of oil and let just a few drops fall between my breasts.

It was fairly warm as it dripped lower down my front, the scent of it reaching my nose and the feel of it reaching almost to my belly button.

I watched myself in the mirror as I spread my legs wider and ran the silk panties through the oil and across my flat tummy. My hands, seemingly guided by another, moved the material around on my skin until they began to drift down across the top of my clit.

Only the day before, I had trimmed my pussy hairs to a short, fine length and fashioned them into the most luscious V-shape. I watched intently as my hands brushed over the fine hairs and let the panties drop to the floor between my legs.

This impulse required more.

The oil nearly poured out of the bottle as I let more of it drip down the front of my body, the warmth of it teasing now.

I set the bottle down and watched the trail of oil search and find its way to the edges of my pubic hair.

I spread my legs even wider and let my hands drift to the tender line between my thighs and pussy, the oil catching the edges of my thumbs. Ever so slowly, I'd brush my long fingers along that line, up and down, as the feel of my own hands pulsed through me.

I liked watching myself; I liked how I could please myself, knowing just how I liked to be touched.

The sunlight coming through the windows next to the bed danced over the edges of my hip and shot across my hands and arms as I slid them up and down the length of my thighs.

I stepped nearer to the mirror; I wanted to see my body even closer.

My hair was still slightly damp and fell cool on my shoulders. As I held my pelvis tightly, I flicked my hair back and watched as my stomach muscles reacted to the movement. Pilates had begun to pay off and the increase in my muscle ability allowed me to feel pleasure more acutely now.

I flexed my stomach again, and as I did I lowered my hand to the moist folds of my pussy; I was wet to my own touch, wet at the idea of pleasuring myself and I loved it.

The feel of my long, thin fingers as I ran them up and down the moist edges of my lips was intense so I spread myself open. I had thick pussy lips and when I'd spread them with my fingers the folds, wet and sticky, would stay open.

I probed one finger inside very slowly. It was so tight. The walls contracted against my finger and the pull only made me want it more.

I probed in and out very slowly at first, then, as the pleasure increased so did my rhythm.

My eyes were focused on my finger inside myself; I watched as it entered deep until my finger was all inside. But I needed more.

I stuck two fingers in, this time more vigorously; I was ready now. I wanted it now more than ever, that touch was unbearable.

I began thrusting two fingers deeper and deeper, the wet, sticky feel of my juices already dripping down my fingers onto my thigh. The wet slap as my hand came back against my clit was fantastic; I couldn't stop.

Faster and faster, I plunged my fingers into my pussy as I contorted my stomach muscles and tensed my legs.

I was close now; months of sexual sobriety had built up in me like a volcano.

I reached for something to hold onto with my free hand. As I did, my legs gave way and I clutched the comforter on the bed.

Pieces of lingerie fell onto the floor near me as the intensity of my pleasure began to escalate. But I wanted to see it; I wanted to watch as I pleased myself.

I was on my knees now and my fingers were deep inside when I felt it.

My stomach convulsed and I let out a guttural moan. I was screaming as I pulled my fingers out.

I sprayed the floor in front of me as I came. My thighs gave in to the pressure and I fell forward on all fours; my stomach still contracting, my lungs on fire.

I was panting but I still wanted to see, so I threw my hair back and looked again at myself in the mirror.

My face was red, my cheeks flushed with emotion. My chest was heaving and my breasts swayed a little each time I took a breath.

I got up on my knees again and watched my heavy breathing, watched as my body moved in and out with the flow of air; I wanted to see my reaction.

My thighs shuddered again as the last of the tremors subsided, and it felt glorious.

I ran my sticky hands up the front of my oiled body until they reached my erect nipples. I grabbed my tits, lowered my chin, and licked each of them, their smooth feel so amazing against my tongue, the oil sweet then bitter.

I held my tits like that and gazed at the reflection in the mirror. I was a hot, sweaty mess, my firm tits held in place, and I loved it. I'd become so adept at the art of pleasing myself.

My breath returned but I still didn't look away.

Then the longing overtook me, that plaguing longing I'd grown to dread. The release inside me had been worth the effort, but I wanted that elusive someone who could elicit in me the same sensations I brought to myself.

Deep within the secret places of my heart, I knew it was the reason I accepted Amber's invitation.

The light from the windows streamed in extremely bright and the small pool of my juice on the floor beneath me very nearly reflected the bottom of my pussy and my ass in the mirror.

I stayed that way long after I caught my breath. I stayed there naked, my hands rolling slowly over my body, until I knew I needed to finish packing.

The wicked grin on my face was insatiable as I snatched up my panties from the floor and placed them in my suitcase; they wouldn't keep me warm but I knew they would come in handy on this trip.

.....

When the plane touched down and I'd made my way to the terminal, aided by the throngs of beautiful people and celebrity sightings, I found myself embracing the idea that I had intentionally taken a winter vacation in a place blanketed by cold and ice.

I wanted to believe I could have more of my perspectives altered, so on the flight to the mountains I'd begun opening myself up to a more world view of things. It didn't hurt that my stewardess was a charming girl with legs that seemed designed for ice skating or tennis rather than simple tasks like walking aisles; each time she bent over the serving cart in front of me to retrieve another glass of water for someone my eyes followed the exquisite line of her leg up to her hem.

Inside the airport, I lamented the fact that despite my efforts I hadn't made more of an impression on my stewardess, but the trip had barely begun and it seemed options were everywhere I looked.

The sight of Amber, her arms open to greet me and her smile a mile wide, dressed in skin-tight leggings and a faux-fur top, instantly warmed my heart and I was immediately reassured that I hadn't made a big mistake.

Besides, her tits looked great as they nearly bounced out of her shirt while she hugged me. Her embrace was that of a comforting friend and her scent intoxicating as she kissed my cheek and welcomed me to her frozen hideaway.

We'd been friends on and off since college, bound tightly to one another following a fateful night during our freshman year, but hadn't spent real time together since her marriage.

We often talked about reconnecting but the timing never seemed to favor us until this moment; her divorce had been finalized and she'd been begging me for some time to get back together as friends.

As she drove us through the winding mountain roads near the summit, I noticed how little she seemed to have changed. That glow had never left her eyes; the spark in her voice was still as inviting as I remembered. Listening to her act as tour guide, I wondered how we had drifted so far apart all those years ago, how we had lost each other over the course of our fading youth.

Amber was the one who always found a way to reignite my spirit when no one else could, but somehow I'd lost sight of that. I'd held onto the precious seductive memory of the night she seduced me in her provocative yet innocent way during that first year in school but hadn't held onto the real her.

It was listening to the tenderness in her voice as she drove, the way she told the stories of her new life now as a divorced woman that reminded me how much of that innocent young girl remained inside her.

.....

Finally inside our cozy mountain retreat -- my bags properly heaped onto my bed, the bulky outer layers thrown to the floor -- Amber insisted we celebrate our reunion and immediately opened a bottle of champagne.

It was mid-afternoon and the party had begun.

"You still look amazing, sweety," Amber cooed. "Wherever did you get those earrings?" she asked before -- "And did you get your boobs done?"

"Nope," I replied as I sipped champagne and wandered around the spacious loft, "they're all still me."

"And those hips," she continued, "why you never had kids I'll never know. You were built for it."

Amber spoke like a horny schoolgirl as the compliments poured out of her.

"Me?" I said, "Look at you. Was there anyone in that airport who wasn't checking your ass? You still glow."

"I do alright," she said, that devious grin returning to her lips, "but maybe I've good reason to be happy. My best friend and confidant is finally here."

Her best friend; it was the first time she'd said it.

She raised her glass and we toasted to what I believed was a chance to truly connect in ways we'd always kept to ourselves. We had never talked about that night, not in all these years, and I had begun to wonder how much of it was still real to her.

Growing up as I did, I never believed myself a lesbian, had never felt strongly attracted to any woman -- or any man for that matter -- in the way I felt toward Amber before and during the night she seduced me.

It seemed there had always been something unspoken between us, long before that night. In fact, the evening in question during our first year of college, was just that, no words were spoken during those passionate hours we spent alone together; she wouldn't even allow me to say goodbye as she ushered me out of her room before the dawn came up.

We'd met in the library of all places; I was there studying and she worked part-time to help pay her way. It wasn't long before we realized the ever-growing list of common interests we shared, but the one mutual interest I never suspected was for each other. It came at me so much by surprise that when it did happen I was unable to respond verbally; I was speechless after she kissed me that first time.

She kissed me behind a sea of shelves as I stood with an open book in my hands.

And then she just floated away, disappeared down a long section of reference books. That was the first time I understood why I had a heart; it was there to react to her presence.

For weeks I'd make extended trips to the library on the off chance she'd notice me again. I had no real idea who she was or where she lived; she always acted as though she was living in secret. I've no memory now of how long it took before she finally revealed more of herself.

Weeks later, after that night, we never spoke of it at all; at times over the years, I sometimes wondered if I had dreamt that night in her room. It was so magical, so beguiling, the candles so low I could barely make her out in the darkness. When her hand met mine that first moment as I reached up to remove my sweater, it startled me; I didn't realize it was her.

Yet it was magical.

"So you never really told me the details of your divorce," I said casually as I sipped champagne and watched the skiers crisscrossing the mountain outside our enormous windows.

"It was ugly, sweety," she confessed as she busied herself in the adjoining kitchen. "When Tom left I just hid from everyone, including myself."

"But the wedding was such a smash," I said. "I know it was a lifetime ago, but I thought you two were made for each other."

Amber laughed from across the room as she refilled her glass.

"That man was made of wood," she confessed. "Stiff as a board, except for his dick."

"No. Tom Duncan?"

"Yup. Ten years I went without so much as a twitch between my legs from that man. Do you know what it's like to go to sleep on your wedding night without having sex?"

"Amber, please. You can't be serious," I replied, my attention still focused on the flurry of activity out the window: "And why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Because it was too embarrassing. Foolish women don't admit they've allowed that mistake. I don't."

Something about her tone changed as she said it; the light-hearted aspect in her voice shifted so I turned back toward her.

"But that was ten years ago, and your life seemed, well... perfect."

"Well," she started to say. Amber gulped back a healthy dose of champagne as her eyes skirted from mine: "Appearances can be very deceiving, pet. Besides, who wants to hear about someone else's problems?"

And with that remark, she finished her champagne and poured herself another.

The room began to chill a little as her words sank in.

"But things are better now, right? You wanted this divorce."

"Oh boy, did I," Amber reassured me. "I was finally released after a life-long sentence. Can you believe how stupid I was to ever let that happen?"

"And yet look at all the fringe benefits," I joked as I gestured around the luxury of the mountain chalet, determined to lighten her mood.

"To my parting gifts," Amber said as she raised her glass toward mine. "Let them continue to soften the blow."

"Thatta girl," I said as I drifted over and clinked my glass to hers. "To your new life."

The sparkle in her eyes snuck back in and we shared our first drink since the day we'd shared a toast at her wedding. That day all those years ago, as happy as I was for what I believed was her successful relationship; I felt a small tinge of regret while listening to those around her celebrate her marriage vows.

Years after college, and years after the one night that changed my life, I'd failed to meet anyone who ignited in me the feelings I'd known during that brief encounter with Amber. At first, I tried dismissing it and told myself it was just a fantasy or a lie or something I didn't understand; but no matter how hard I tried I never moved past the feelings she'd brought out of me when she touched me that night.

It seemed so easy for her to keep me as a friend, but not once after that night did she offer so much as a hint that we'd go further; and so I repeatedly told myself that I'd made more of it than there was.

Amber only stayed that freshman year at college before opportunities pulled her elsewhere, so it was easy to remain friends at a distance; at least that's how I saw it. Over the years, I gradually learned to keep my feelings hidden from others; that was the lasting lesson I inherited from our encounter.

.....

As the evening descended, we moved to the sectional couch in the expansive living room and let our eyes wander between the flickering light of the fire, the skiers making their way up and down the lighted slopes, and the fond look in the eyes of one another.

Amber graciously assumed the role of hostess and never once allowed my glass to get near empty before refilling it. We laughed and even cried a little as she'd drift now and then into the murky waters left behind from her troubled marriage; yet each time she began discussing it she'd find a way to avoid it.

Every so often she'd reach across and touch my arm or better yet, rest her hand across my thigh while telling another revealing story about her ex-husband or the various lovers she'd enjoyed. And with every touch, with every gesture she made, the distant yearning I'd known all those years ago began to resurface.