Going Down to Lift Me Up

Dark and rainy evening, we meet in the parking lot of a closed-down bar, and follow one another, by car, into the woods of a local park. You climb into the backseat of my vehicle... only an hour to spend with one another before we each must return to our respective houses; to our husbands, who long ago decided that we were no longer the objects of their desire; the husbands from whom we keep our love affair hidden.

We immediately embrace, our lips, hungering for the soft touch that only another woman can provide; our tongues perfecting the desperate dance of secret lovers, the tango of our fleeting moments together.

You peel off your dress, and I unhook your bra, your remarkable breasts, more voluptuous than my own, spilling forth, like manna from heaven, into my awaiting fingertips. Feverishly, you reach for my breasts, as we tremble, rubbing our bountiful nipples together, the Genesis of our exquisite love making.

Our blushing areolas collide and we take turns tasting their sweetness, and bite playfully, guiding their fullness into each others mouths. I mount you at once, straddling your lap, grinding against your wanton pelvis. Breathless, I reach for your long, flowing red hair, pull it gently back, to reveal your supple skin, the flush of your cheeks, the ecstasy in your eyes. My tongue flicks your erect nipples as your mouth remains agape, and the passion between us climbs.

Craving more of you, I bend over, at the delta of your femininity, parting your closely shaved lips, and begin tasting your erotic button. This, what has been virginal territory to me, until tonight, ignites a familiarity within my tastebuds- an essence so much like my own. Your voice rises in pitch, your staccato melody beckoning me to further explore your inner most cavern. I insert two fingers into your moist hole, quickly discovering the spongey surface of your internal utopia.

Following the yearning of your body language, my pace quickens, my hand slapping against your mound, as you urgently repeat "yes, oh yes." Your primal soliloquay has become a catalyst to my arousal, wetness trickling down my thighs, begging to be mixed with your own. I beg you to guide me. I want nothing but to please you. More than anything, I want to fill you; to quench all of the thirsts that we've both had for so long.

Satisfied, you push me onto my back, my thigh-high fishnets and my stiletto boots splayed out before you. I feel your warm breath on my womanhood as your tongue darts in and out of my opening, massaging my engorged sweet spot in its travels. I grip the edges of the backseat as I fervently encourage you to continue. Your fingers penetrate my swollen walls, as I rub myself in sync with your movements inside of me. Within seconds, I erupt in a guttural response that has been known only to men and my own ears, until this evening.

Content, we collapse into one another, bittersweet last kisses given before dressing and going our separate ways. I drive home, the smell of you lingering on my fingers.

Smiling, I ponder the endless hours of loneliness and heartache, in partnership with an uninterested husband, and how the very act of acknowledging my own needs; my own worth; and doing what is right for me, for a change, has brought me to a more authentic love for myself and in relationship to other men and women.

Despite the judgement of those who would scorn my affair as selfish, those drowning in similar sorrows who have resigned themselves to a life of misery, or those who have never known the abandonment of which i speak, I am grateful to my soul for its courage- to say i will not live without passion anymore. This is me...and I am not only okay..I am whole. And I am worth it. And at last, at the vestibule of another woman, I am healed. I kissed a girl and she kissed me, and, yes, I sure did like it.