His penis was at the entrance of my vagina, the head rubbing against my clitoris, and I was inviting him in. And then he slid over the lips of my vagina slowly, and I groaned, my body eager to embrace his thickness. He began entering me slowly, his pace as steady as the tick of a metronome, a beat for the symphony of our mutual lust.
Every stroke was soft, a heavy tension that curled and curled and was ready to burst.
The bed creaked under us, the danger of longing we awakened in that tiny hot room. His eyes never left mine, and I could feel in them the same savage hunger devouring me body and soul. The room spun, the walls melting as we were caught up in the movement, our bodies choreographed in godly syncopation. It was the most body dance I've ever had, a dance that moved beyond the body and addressed itself directly to the very marrow of our being. A tidal wave of pure pleasure crashed over me as he filled me, his dick pumping with an expertise Daniel never had. It crescendoed, and I felt the orgasm rise, a shocking climax that would destroy the walls of the very universe. "Faster," I screamed, my voice raw and hoarse and somehow daring him to keep going.
His body faster, slapping flesh against flesh a testament to our desire for one another. I locked my legs around him, palms dragging down his back as we fought blow for blow. The room was a blur of sensation: the smell of our combined sweat, the rough rasp of our labored breathing, the feel of our bodies. I screamed as I came, body clenching around him as wave upon wave of pleasure washed over me. He was not far behind, his orgasm washing over him. Covered in the remnants of lust, I could not help but consider all of the choices that I had made. The burlesque club and the masquerade, and this as well -- they had all been a part of the same, a search for something that my life was lacking. But gazing into Geoffrey's eyes, I knew that I had found it.
This was what I had been starving for: a connection that was animal, raw, and consuming. A Daniel we had lost somewhere along the way, buried deep under the suffocating pile of expectation and routine. Geoffrey was a bottomless well of energy, his body still pumping into mine, each thrust a declaration of his hunger. His eyes were as intent as they had been that night in the candle-lit room of masks, yet here in the daylight there was a tenderness that surprised us. He kissed me again, tongue probing deep, following the contours of my mouth with the same fervor that he had followed the contours of my flesh. We gasped and held onto one another, legs wrapped around his hips, his body pushed down onto me into the bed.
The world outside was a burning cocoon, sunbeam light filtered through blinds and scattered into darkness on the floor. Everything else melted away around us, and all that remained was one another, creatures who found ourselves stranded on a parallel world with no one but ourselves. His hands shaped me, molding my curves, waist to hips, as from memory. It was a passion marathon neither of us wanted to end. Each touch, each caress, was a silent affirmation of our new union. The clock kept ticking away as we consumed every inch of each other's bodies, our screams of pleasure echoing off the walls of his small but comfortable bedroom. We were in our own world, one where the bitter ugliness of our everyday lives had no room. It was hours later that we eventually separated, when our hearts beat alike, and swapped lives. Geoffrey spoke of his travels, his passion for art, and books that lined his walls. His tales were of a man who had been to the ends of this earth, yet far back in his eyes there was something that was bittersweet, an untold deep yearning.
He spoke of loves lost that had shaped him, of a muse that had crafted him, and the devastation of being left behind afterwards. His words made their way to me, summoning to the front of my own mind loss and incompleteness. I went home that evening. The house was eerier than it had ever been. There was no trace of Daniel.
The silence was stifling.
I showered, trying to scrub the smell of Geoffrey's cologne from my body, but it lingered, a ghost of our love affair. The hot water cascaded over me as memories of our sex poured into my head like a sensual tapestry. I could smell his hands on me, his mouth on my ear, his penis in me. It was a sad reminder of what I had lost and to what I was returning.
