Saturday, January 17, 2009


It was her first time. I could tell when she showed me the room. She was nervous, afraid that I wouldn’t approve. I tried to comfort her, by complimenting her on the open but intimate feel of the place, the bed, the corner heater, the blond wood floor. She asked me to get undressed and slip under the sheets. I happily obliged, anxious for her educated touch. She didn’t disappoint. Her fingers found all the right spots, sending spasms of delight through the deepest reaches of my flesh. Her hands glided over my buttocks, drawing me to her. The light poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I was exposed to her and to the world. My neck, shoulders, back, ass, legs, feet…parts of me flowed like hot butter below her. I was a pool into which she dove. She entered the surface without a ripple, the turbulence of her body swirling through me, driving my blood to the edge. Then, she was done. I lay there, in the warmth and light, breathing in the stillness, my body returning to itself.

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