Awaening

I wake up wanting you but this is nothing new. There is a hazy place, another world between sleep and wakefulness, where you are mine, and I am yours.

Sometimes, we exist in memories of us. We sit close on my picnic mat, looking down over valleys and gazing behind waterfalls. We walk across fields, over rocks, through forests, the sun low in the sky, the autumn light streaking through the trees: an idyll in harmony with the sound of our voices. All of this is ours. There's only the two of us: me, 'navigating' and you, wondering how I've got us lost again, how I've walked us around in another circle. How can I concentrate on anything else with you by side? The beauty of our surroundings pales only in comparison with you.

I think of the book you lent me, the line, 'Beauty arises in the stillness of your presence' and I know the presence referred to should be mine. Others find awe in nature but, for me, it is you who brings these moments of divine peace; you are my satori. A moment of immense restfulness. My mind stills and there you are with totally clarity: ineffable, enlightening. How can I retreat into nature, into the stillness of my own mind, when my head is full of you?

Often, I embellish these memories: you take my hand in yours as we walk, our arms slip easily around each other's waists, I pull you towards me and our lips meet... These thoughts of us together bring with them a feeling of calm so absolute that I fall asleep and walk with you in my dreams. Or they expand until I have you pushed up behind a tree, cold breaths turning warm on each other's tongues, chilled hands finding heat below fleeced layers of clothing... These thoughts wake me up entirely until I can't stop the will of my fingers, thrilled by the force of my imagination, and I can almost believe that you are with me.

So it takes me a moment to realise that I am not in bed at home with my husband, but here, in your bed, with you: mystical, manifest beauty, only viewed from a distance, just a wish... until now.

You are led on your side, facing away from me, your legs slightly pulled up to your stomach and - can this be true? - I am curled around you, the front of my body pushed against the back of yours, my lips in your hair, my arm resting on the curve of your hips and I'm cuddling you into me. Your breathing is deep and regular, your body becalmed, and instinctively I still my waking mind and body: this moment is precious.

My head is resting on my hand and I slowly become aware of the sharp scent of my fingers, a link to a chain of memories: our lips meeting for the first time, the slide of my fingers inside you, how you look and sound and feel and, oh God... how you taste, when you're coming.

I wait for the sting of guilt, of regret - I shouldn't have acted on my feelings - but it doesn't come, and it doesn't come. How could it when I've wanted you for so long, wanted you so absolutely? A boundary, tenuous from the start, has been crossed and I stand on the other side: liberated. There's no going back, no desire to go back...

I bury my face in your neck and breathe you in as my senses awaken. Last night, you wore the clean scents of soap and toothpaste. Now I've removed these layers - did I really touch and lick you in all those wonderful places? - and there is the animal aroma of your body: primal, pheromone-filled - and completely irresistible. Without moving, without touching myself, I know that I'm already wet for you. And I know that I have to have you again.

In this agony of inaction, I replay all the things we did together in our twilit world. Mere hours have passed but now everything is different because of you, because of us and the iridescence of last night. I am caught between a surge of arousal and something else which threatens to pull the air from my lungs and brings tears to my eyes.

Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?

It is only just morning; the muted light of dawn creeps in through your curtains and I have you for a while longer. I think: please don't let this night end. Suspend the passing of time and leave us in this moment. But then there it is, as always, the panic of minutes with you evanescing, immediately followed by a sudden sinking fear: what if you don't want me again?

Just then, miraculously, I feel you waking in my arms and I register with awe the change in your breathing, the feeling of your limbs responding to the pressure of mine. You're often so unpredictable, so enigmatic: cat-like, bristling at my over-attention. But now your muscles stretch taut and you lean back before nestling langourously back into me, feline-soft, and your sigh is full of contentment and quiescence.

Giving in to my restlessness, I can't stop my hand from finding the curve of your hip and lightly tracing a line along the side of your body, traversing the gradients of you.

I think of you sitting in my car on the way to a walk, raising your jumper over your head to reveal your black vest-top underneath. I recall gaping - eyes wide, mouth open - at the smooth skin of your shoulders, your chest, the dark descent of your cleavage, the incredible swell of your breasts either side... and your radiant beauty as I looked back up, our eyes meeting, my breath taken away. I remember how much I wanted to reach out and feel the heat of your skin, how I had to force my attention back to the road, petrified that you'd noticed my reaction but paralysed with longing for you. Can it really be that you'll let me touch you here now?

You shiver as I run my fingers up your arm, over your shoulder and down to the falling mounds of your breasts. Already I've missed the feel of this and I squeeze gently with the palms of my hands before using my fingers to caress the pink ripening buds of your nipples. I've always had very little interest in touching myself like this, but to touch you here is something else entirely: soft skin stiffening, the feminine sound of your sighs, the way you arch your back into me...

I stroke my fingers back down your stomach and as I near the hair between your legs, you raise your leg a little higher, forcing me instead to stroke down your side to the milky skin on the back of your thighs. I feel a jolt of desire run through me as I realise how you want me to touch you and there's an immediate flash of memory: my fingers fucking you from behind, my mouth sucking your nipple harder than I meant to, your wet clit finding rhythm with my hips...

Now I caress down to your bum, sighing as I descend the beautiful curve of your leg, drawing out my touches, inching closer and closer towards the pinkness between your legs until you're thrusting yourself towards my fingers - your whole body aching for me to fuck you, your open legs inviting me into you - and it's getting harder and harder to take my time.

I can't tease us both any longer and, gently, I stroke the tips of my fingers across the folds your lips, up to your clit and through the wirey softness of your pubic hair. Your body moves sensually against mine: gasps of pleasure as I slowly trickle my fingertips up and down the length of you. Your lips, velvet rose petals, spread under my touch and I let my fingers slip just a little inside you, marvelling at the feel of making you wet and feeling that wetness at its source for the first time.

Tropical heat oozes from between your legs and I let you draw me in, my fingers sinking into this hidden utopia of you. As slide my fingers deeper inside you, you push back, controlling the speed at which I fuck you, and every so often I slide my fingers out and up to your clit, making you wet all over, sending quivers all through your body. Slippery, you writhe back into me as my lips kiss the tight skin at the base of your neck until I'm nearly biting you - hungry, almost feral - with the desperate passion of touching you like this.

Inexplicably, I think of the first time I made a guy come with my hand. Aged fifteen, we sat opposite each other on a concrete floor, under the cover of a wooden house in our local park. Early summer, daylight, late afternoon and all the streets empty because of the rain that fell around us. We sat with our legs open and around each other's waists and kissed with the clumsy desire of teenagers discovering another person's body for the first time. With a confidence I found simultaneously alarming and alluring, he took my hand and placed it around his hard cock and, without words, showed me how to touch him. Torn between curiosity and a sort of mild disgust, I kept the steady pace he'd set until I felt the spill of his hot come over my fingers; it felt as if I'd journeyed to another planet and found an alien race. I walked home in excited frustration as the drizzle turned to sunshine, feeling full of a new knowledge.

Twenty five years later and I'm reminded of these feelings of discovery, of entering another vital phase of life, of awakening. But the confusion isn't there. The first time with a boy and his body made no sense to me; decades of satisfying men and still I only understand the outcomes of my actions.

Being with you is not like this; instead, ultimate understanding - total gratification - and it's the biggest turn on, akin to losing my virginity again but with none of the uncomfortable anxiety. Starting over.

How am I only just discovering you?

When I touch you, each little bit of you feels unique - a different size, a different shape, a different texture to my own body - and already I'm learning how you respond differently to my touch. But at the same time, I understand perfectly how you are, right now, experiencing the feeling of my fingers inside you: that wonderful pressure which is running through your lower body as I push against that bumpy patch of sensitive skin deep inside you; how, now, as I rub my wet thumb over your clit as I fuck you, your abdomen is on fire with the intensity of this multiple stimulaton; how, incipiently, this feeling grows and tingles down to the tips of your toes (which you are wriggling and flexing, the tension building through your legs) and then all the way up through the filaments of your chest, arms and neck until I'm firing electric sparks in your head and sending your body into tantalising spasms. I've never touched a man and completely understood how he is feeling the way that I understand what I am doing to you in this moment. This connection is divine.

You are where I belong.

Your erratic breaths tell me you're close but I also know that I can make your orgasm even more intense if I draw out my touches for longer.

So I take my thumb from your clit and only touch you there occasionally, concentrating on the slip-slide of my fingers inside you, so warm, wet and pink, until I have you crying out and I can feel your body screaming: let me come. Please, make me come...

But I also know that this penetration isn't as good as how I can make your clit feel by touching you from the other side and so, finally, I slide my fingers from you and rub my wet hand over your hips - sticky, diaphanous - and reach around to stimulate you from the front.

Stroking down your clit, I find that nub of intense glowing feeling and I know that just one finger is enough to have you coming in my arms in seconds. I think: not yet... not yet - and as I pull away you buck against me in delightful frustration. But I can also feel that all around this part of you, the pressure of my other fingers, the palm of my hand pushing down on the lush darkness of your pubic hair, is driving you wild.

I tease you, sliding my fingers down to your wet slit and rubbing back up, touching the most sensitive bit of you for a second before pulling away again and massaging this part of you all over. You're so fucking wet and as I pull your body back into me, I can feel your buttocks pushing against me and I'm throbbing with a desire almost as strong as if your fingers were on me.

You lean back against me and I'm overcome with the pressure of your body, the sweat mingling between us, the salty taste of your unwashed skin. Somehow, I have slid my other arm under your neck and your fingers clutch at mine, our arms entwining like vines, the eager-tendriled limbs of our bodies becoming one exotic entity.

You spread your legs wide open now, pushing me down hard as I touch you and I picture fields stretching as far as the eye can see: variegated flowers blooming, buds opening and reaching for the light.

I find the perfect amount of wetness: too dry and the rubbing is uncomfortable, too wet and the sensitivity is lost. But now as my fingers slip from the wetness inside you and up to your clit, I can feel the equilibrium. Your clit, like an exposed stem, has roots which run deep inside you and my touches funnel through your body in a white, sap-filled glow.

I know from my own experience that there is a choice to be made as you near your climax: I can hold this slow, massage-like rhythm I've created - something like faster, faster, slow; circle, circle, push. Or I can speed up now and bring you to orgasm hard and fast. Instinctively, the former feels right: your body moves languidly as I play my moistened fingers over your clit and I know that this gradual build-up of intense feeling is what you want in this moment.

I am caught between needing you to come and wanting to touch you like this forever. But as soon as this thought enters my mind, you blossom at my touch: your groans becoming screams, the staccato rhythm of your hips, the sensual feel of you beneath my fingers, somewhere between hard and soft... and then you're turning into your pillow, suppressed shouts and sighs as you grip first my fingers, then the bedcovers, making fists with your hands and pushing back forcefully into me with absolute abandon.

You're the sexiest sight I've ever seen.

Your whole body is convulsing, wracked with spasms - I never knew an orgasm could last this long - and still I hold you close and touch you, and touch you...

Slowing, softly now, my soaked fingers flutter over your clit as you grind against me. I still my hand but keep the pressure there, passing you the control as you push seductively into me and your breathing calms. Do you know what you're doing to me?

Still I hold you close, kissing your neck and eventually sliding my hands back up your body. You turn in my arms, cloudy eyes as our lips and tongues meet, our mouths hot, our bodies fuzzy from sleep.

I think of when I was young - eleven, twelve - reaching my hand into my hamster's cage, gripping her gently under her front legs and pulling her from the warmth of her nest-cave. The delicious hot, musty smell of her fur, her eyes squinting at the light, the glow of my heart as I held her close. And this is how you feel now: liminal but vivid, awakening only for me.

I pull away and we look deeply into each other's eyes, a celebration of our new knowledge of one another, of our lapsarian world. I stroke your hair away from your face and think how I love the slim streaks of silver which now run down the right side of your hair. For nearly five years, every time I've come I've thought of you - the only person other than the man I'm married to who has held my attention for so long - and these little things, these wonderful little details, bring you to life when you are not with me.

This thought brings with it a new wonder that we are here together. I'm acutely aware of the softness of your breasts against mine, our wetness as we wrap our legs around each other and push ourselves against each other's thighs. You, on fire with the orgasm you've just had; me, burning with the need to come - for you to make me come - and I wriggle desperately into you, trying to find purchase.

With a man, this would almost be over but I can feel from the way you're rubbing against me, matching your rhythm to mine, that this is only the beginning and it's the most arousing feeling.

Our kisses become deeper, our tongues licking and twisting with growing ferocity. Augmenting groans. We're making each other's thighs so slick and I roll on top of you, letting the weight of my body fall onto yours, our legs still intertwined as we kiss and writhe against each other.

Rising up, I slot my left leg under your right, pulling your knee up towards my chest, and I wrap my right leg over the top of your left thigh. With an awkwardness I'd only be happy sharing with you, I slide my cunt sensually against yours.

I look down at the splendid vision of our clits pushed together, the sticky trails of our come when I rise up slightly on you, and I can feel the wetness of our vulvas just touching below this as I push down; we set each other alight, my juices dripping and mingling with yours.

As a man would, I fuck you like this, clumsily at first, struggling to find the rhythm, but it's exciting to try and every time I get it right - the pressure of our wet clits rubbing together - we both cry out in pleasure. I know I can't yet make either of us come like this but I feel comfortable up here, the sparkle of your eyes on me, our hands groping each other's bodies and finding the soft flesh of each other's breasts. I wonder that my body knows how to do this, to match this part of my body so perfectly with yours... to make us fit like we have never been apart.

I never want us to be apart.

Leaning forwards, I extricate my legs from yours, stroking and licking up your body, taking your nipples in my mouth, until we're kissing deeply once more. I straddle your stomach, your warm flesh feeling so good below me, rubbing against my clit which I push into you in urgent pleasure.

I feel so close, so close to coming, but before I can, your hands cup my buttocks and pull me upwards, perfect torture, as you start kissing my neck... upwards... I look down as your tongue circles my nipple... upwards... your lips trailing down my stomach...

And I realise with a flash of excitement how you want to make me come.

You pull me onto your face, my legs spread above you, your arms behind me stroking from my bum up the length of my body as far as you can reach.

I look down, our eyes meeting as your tongue, so hot and wet, finds my clit and then slides down, harder now as it flickers inside me, tasting the cocktail of our come. I'm blown away by the stark contrast between the stiffness of your tongue probing inside me and the softness of your mouth as you lick back up to my clit.

How are you making it feel this good?

I arch my back, intense pleasure, sliding myself back and forth across your tongue, feeling my wetness cover your mouth and your chin.

I look back at the beauty of your naked body and reach behind me, massaging your breasts, running my hand down your stomach and feeling again the wetness between your open legs. Your muffled sighs as I stroke you turn me on even more and I touch you for as long as I can concentrate for, gently probing my fingers inside you, rubbing your growing wetness up to your clit until our cries of pleasure resonate, until I'm consumed with my own need to climax.

I bring my wet fingers to my nipples and I get a kick out of knowing that your eyes are open as I cover my tits in your come, my other hand bracing my body against your wall as my hair falls around my face.

Until now, I've been conscious of holding my weight from you but it's not long before I forget everything, bearing down on you, feeling the heat of your mouth rise up through my body and I think: this is first time you'll make me come with your tongue.

Last night, your mouth between my legs, I pulled you back up to me and you kissed me as you fingered me to orgasm, igniting a fire in me which is still burning. But right now, this is what I need.

Your tongue on me feels so fucking good: the right speed, the right amount of pressure. So hot, so wet, so kinky to ride your face as your hands grope me and I squeeze my breasts and rub my nipples, sticky with your come.