Snapshots 03

She phones me at twilight. Saying eagerly that her woman is away again on a business trip and she'll be free for the entire night; asking me in her sweet husky voice what time she should come by. She doesn't ask me if I am free; she knows that for her I always am. She doesn't realize how much her need is revealed in the inflection of her voice.

I hurry to change out of my old jeans and tee-shirt, stripping off worn cotton bra and briefs; changing into an lacy lilac demi bra and matching g-string under a sheer floral mini dress: High on the leg and hip, empire waist, billowing sleeves. A retro 60's look, but she came of age, came out, in the 60's. And how I look is so important to her, and me.

She knocks firmly twice at my front door, she never uses the bell. I open it, holding in my hand her mug filled with hot green tea. Neither of us drinks anything stronger, we met at an AA meeting. Our only addiction is us, we get drunk on each other, on our sex. He short gray hair glows silvery under the porch light, but she smiles like a kid.

She enters, hands me her rain-damp jacket, takes the mug, and quickly kisses me. I hang the jacket up as she goes to my leather armchair, places aside my guitar, and sits with her legs stretched out. I smile and kneeling before her, I pull off her favorite black engineer boots with fancy silver buckles. It's a gesture that relaxes and excites her all at the same time.

Her eyes are caressing me; it only takes that for me to shiver. I stand and walk behind the chair, my hands fall on her shoulders and I start to slide the muscles back and forth. She sighs, and undoes the buttons of her flannel workshirt. She is almost completely flat, but she has such large nipples – I can see the outline of them underneath her ribbed tank top.

I ease her heavy shirt off her shoulders and start to knead deeply her muscles; alternating between fingertips and a fist, small circular movements. We talk casually. We have a rule, we never talk about our personal lives; we talk about novels and poems we love, the musicians we both raptly listen to. I mind more than speak, my hands moving, paying attention to the rhythm of her breathing.

She leans back, her sentences trailing off. I lean down and kiss her below her seashell of an ear, nibbling on an earlobe. She murmurs lowly, "Yes Tess..." I reach down and rake her slight soft mounds with the squared long nails of my right hand. Fingernails strumming over a suddenly firm nipple underneath her tee. I play the melody she loves. She inhales sharply, "Oh Jesus, yes baby..."

We stay like that for endless minutes. My tongue running over and in her ear, my long straight black hair draping over her shoulders, my fingers over her front; on the velvety nipples that I love, teasing with nails, tweezing with fingertips. She breathes heavily, her hands tight on the arms of the chair, her eyes glazing over. She is losing herself, becoming drunk on the sensation, on me.

As my tongue dips and coils in the whorls of her ear I whisper, "Pull up your shirt, Sal." She groans and rolls up the tee over her chest up to her armpits. My hands now have bare skin to touch; caressing the mature curves of her stomach, palming over her sides, returning to her breasts and pinching the caramel tips. Her hands go over mine, holding them urgently.

I tilt her head back, the beautiful arch of her neck sending quivers through me, and kiss her mouth almost cruelly. Kiss her until she is whimpering, until my hands are on shaking on her quivering body. I move away, breathing almost as hard as she is. I look at her over my shoulder and say, "Come to bed." She lurches out of the chair and takes my hand.

We climb the steep stairs up to my bedroom. Kissing each other madly as we stagger up the steps, her callused hand on my rump, my soft hand clinging on the nape of her neck. The bed is ready for us: The blankets turned back, the large goose down pillows placed where we will settle on them; our magical, golden curved love wand wrapped and warming in a towel.

She undresses me: I lift my arms, she pulls my dress over my head, and it flutters down to the floor. She reaches behind my narrow freckled back, her mouth hotly wandering on my neck, and undoes the bra, sliding the straps off my shoulders; my heavy breasts skimming tantalizingly against her chest. She sinks to her knees and as she kisses my thighs draws the g-string slowly down.

She looks up at me, her face showing all the eager, helpless, lust she feels. I take my nipples between my fingers and pinch them, reddening them – she loves seeing me wanton. Her mouth settles on me, her flat tongue laving gradually down the middle. I groan her name out and hold her head. She doesn't tease; her tongue enters me, pushing herself in as deeply as she can.

I don't know what excites me more, the passionate fierceness of her tongue diving in me, or the soft trembling of her mouth and chin as the want builds in her. My knees bend and she fucks me with her tongue even more deeply; until I am on hovering on the brink, and then she pulls away gasping and crying, "Tessie, I need you! I need you so much!"

I groan and nod shakily. Her clothes rapidly join my dress on the floor. She lays down her back on my bed, her head and ass propped up by the pile of pillows – my beautiful, stocky, odalisque. I unfold our wand from the towel, the gold-flecked curved glass is so warm and slick to the touch. The thickly ribbed side is for her, the spiral wrapping is for me...

I kneel between her outstretched legs, looking into her hazel eyes that are brimming with desire. I touch her neat sex, feel the overflowing wetness, and ease the large bulbous head of our love wand between her lips into her. Carefully I slide it, she is small there, and before me, no one has ever had the ecstatic delight of possessing her womb. Her eyes widen, and she whimpers...

Her half is now in her and she closes her legs. I move up, my narrow thighs straddling her heavy ones. She reaches down to steady the wand and I lean forward, resting my hands on her shoulders, sinking down, letting her enter me. Hands find my breasts, palms rubbing roughly on my peaks – the rasp on my nipples echoing the fretting of the spirals on my inner flesh.

We ride the heightening storm in us. She, lost in the rapture of being fucked – what she never thought she wanted, what she now knows she urges. I, lost in the delirium of lust, of love, of wanting to fuck and be fucked. We are both lost in the perfect rhythm, our mutual strokes creating madness in both of us. She comes, keening my name. I come, sobbing hers.

We are junkies, addicts for each other. Hopelessly, helplessly hooked...