Monday, September 27, 2010


“You know what they say about guitarist’s fingers right? They’re really skilled,” he said with a cheeky smile and then kissed me.
I giggled, I’d been doing a lot of that the whole time we were tangled in each other’s limbs, skin on skin; other stuff in other stuff… my whole body was in tune with his, electricity surging through both of us. The whole house was our playground; the shower, the floor, the kitchen, the balcony, and boy did we play.
Later on, cuddling in bed, he tilts my forehead, looks into my eyes, “you have the most beautiful eyes; sexy and playful but there’s still enough innocence left in them.” I blush again, rub my nose against his.
“You’re amazing,” he says, “why didn’t I meet you sooner?” this time I kiss him, eyes closed because they would betray how I’m feeling, they would betray my heart, and I’m still deathly scared of getting hurt.
“You’re pretty amazing yourself babe,” I just barely manage to say. Just barely because he’s kissing my neck again. Light, sensual kisses, awakening my core, I feel a familiar wetness between my legs and I bite my lip. Here we go again…
He’s on top; I’m on top, the headboard crashes into the wall. His body speaks to mine and mine responds; I bite his shoulder to keep a scream in because I’m sure by now the neighbors are tired of hearing our lovemaking. He sucks one nipple, gently pinches the other. I dig my hands into his back and he thrusts deeper. A bead of sweat drips off his forehead, I watch as it makes its way through the dried up river bed that is my cleavage. Everything we do is art, every sound we make is music, and the way our bodies fit together is poetry.
He stops me and I panic, “what’s wrong?” he looks into my eyes, kisses my forehead, “nothing’s wrong, I just want to savor this, I want to make love to you, this isn’t just about fucking.”
Oh shit, is that a balancing tear that I feel? I look away, kiss his shoulder. “I’m not going to hurt you babe, I promise. That had better be a happy tear I see.”
I look up and he’s frowning at me. I kiss his frown lines, then his nose, then his lips. “It’s a happy tear. It’s definitely a happy tear.”
He kisses me, slow and deep, and starts up again, a slow rhythm. He holds my hands, watches my face as he pleases me, kisses me everywhere he can reach. Intense doesn’t begin to explain it, the spirituality about sex suddenly made sense to me. I am, most certainly, in heaven.

[now playing: Melting – Tristan Prettyman]


  1. I second Julia's comment.

    Beautiful post. :)

    Enjoy the oxytocin coursing through your body. :)