This was one of those man-woman kisses she was so good at, but this time she didn't end it.
I "sprang erect," as the saying goes, but this time it was a literal truth, I didn't realize I could get hard that rapidly, when I felt her hands moving behind my head, her fingers digging in, entwining in my hair, pulling me to her, holding the kiss.
My hands, no longer anticipating her oft-repeated "Watch it, Buster," roamed freely. I felt the softness of her back where it squeezed out above the bra, the hardness of the bra where it constricted her, and then the even more intriguing softness where she bulged out below the tight bra.
She held the kiss.
My hands gently squeezed where she swelled out from under the bra and then lower, cupping her big soft ass and pulling her to me.
She held the kiss.
My hands moved back up, tracing the line of hooks at the back of the bra, the softness above it, and then finding those big, soft pads of fat behind her upper arms, squeezing them gently, loving the softness and warmth of her.
She broke the kiss.
And initiated the strangest conversation I ever had, before or since.
"Tell me this is okay," she said, looking up at me intently, her eyes holding mine, her lips parted a little, her breath a little ragged.
"This is okay," I said, bending to kiss her.
She pushed me away, not forcefully, not rejecting me, but enough to allow us to meet each other's eyes.
"Tell me I'm not crazy," she said.
"You're not crazy," I said, kissing her forehead.
"Tell me this is not wrong," she said.
"This is not wrong," I said, kissing her cheek.
"Tell me you want me," she said.
"Can't you tell?" I asked.
"No, Willie, say the words," she said.
I smiled and brushed a few imaginary hairs from her forehead.
"I want you," I said, nuzzling her neck, kissing the softness there.
"Tell me I'm pretty," she said.
"You are beautiful," I said.
"No, Willie, say the words," she said for the second time.
"You're pretty," I said, kissing each eyelid very gently.
"Tell me I'm yours now," she said.
"You are mine now," I said.
"Tell me you are mine now," she said.
"I am yours," I said.
With each question and answer I could tell she was getting more aroused. Her breathing was coming faster. Her face was flushed. Her eyes never left mine.
"Tell me you won't leave again," she said.
"I won't leave again," I said.
"Tell me I'm not crazy," she said.
I kissed her again, a soft, lingering, man-woman kiss.
"You are not crazy," I said.
Her eyes overflowed then, leaving long black streaks down her cheeks
"Tell me you love me," she said.
"I love you," I said.
She seemed to wind down then.
But her womanscent, that pheromone-laden perfume evolution developed to ensure a male would find his female irresistible, was heavy in the air now. This wasn't just talking now, kind of exchanging strange vows. This was sexual down at the brain stem level, down where male spiders sought females even knowing they would be eaten afterward, where salmon used the last bits of their energy before laying eggs and fertilizing them before becoming bear food. Her breathing was rapid now, as was mine.
I started what seemed to be my side of this odd exchange.
"Tell me you love me," I said.
She looked up, meeting my eyes, her eyes red now, swollen, tears running freely down her cheeks and her nose running, untouched.
"I love you," she said.
"Tell me you are mine," I said.
God, she was a mess now, but I was sure we needed to play this scene out.
"I am yours," she said.
"Tell me I have your heart," I said.
"You have my heart, Will, you've had that since the first time you latched on," she said.
I was holding both of her hands now.
"Tell me I have your soul," I said.
"You have my soul," she said.
"Now," I said, kissing her, a slick, snotty, sloppy kiss, "give your body to me."
She was crying now.
"I give you my body, if you will have it," she said.
I thought that completed the ritual.
I took her in my arms and kissed her, a long, sweet, slick, snotty, wonderful kiss.
