Archive-name: SpecMome/dreamy2.txt
Archive-author:
Archive-title: Dreamy... 2
Lying here on the floor in front of the fire, I delight
in how content and truly happy I am. The crisp, clear
fall weather, just cool enough for the fire, helps
heighten my own thoughts. Our mountain retreat -how
wise of you to decide we needed this special place.
Through the windows, I can see the small mountain lake,
the moonbeams dancing on the waters. The firelight
creating a warm glow in the room. Peace. Serenity.
Utopia.
You, sitting in that large, leather chair - your
chair - just a few feet away. Strange. The seclusion
of the cabin offers us such solitude -and yet we are
together. You are the only person I have ever known
with whom I can be alone while with you. With each
other we have privacy but yet companionship. The soft
music of Chopin wafts through the room. I can barely
hear your pen scratching on the paper as you write. How
I enjoy watching you write. Your face mimics each word.
Sometimes I wonder if you realize just how much you
convey when you write. The expressions on your face
tell the story --the small frown when the line is not
just right; the soft smile when suddenly all the words
just appear on the paper.
You glance up, and catch me watching you. Oh.
When you smile at me that way! How I wish you could
know the stirrings you create. I smile back, and pretend
to get interested in my book again. Your poem is not
complete. The time is not now for my desires to take
form. Later. Meanwhile, the fire can warm me as my
senses just contemplate our loving. And we will.
Later. When the last word is written. When you have
chosen to share your poem with me. Even that has become
almost a form of fore-play between us.
I become aware that I have turned many pages. What
were the words on those pages? Do I care? My eyes were
seeing, but my mind was not reading. Instead, it was
dwelling on you. How satisfied I am with you; with us;
with myself. With you, I never fear. We have been
together long enough now to know each other. Our flaws
are exposed to the other, but we accept what we have
found in the other, the good, the not-so-good; the
perfections, the imperfections. From you I need hide
nothing. You accept the woman you find. That sense of
freedom being an aphrodisiac to me.
My mind strays. Remembering the years that have
gone before this moment. Pain. Sadness. Some spots of
joy. You know what the memories are. But rather than
trying to make me forget, you have encouraged the
memories - embraced them even. Reminding me that
whatever is there is part of what has made me what I am
today. Since you love the woman I am now, the memories
that helped form that being are good also. And, I think
of you. You also brought a past to our new love.
Comprehension.
As you have learned to love me and the memories, so have
I you. Whatever helped make you into the man you are
tonight must have been good, because the man you are
now is so special and warm. The flooding of sensations
through my body reminds me just how much I delight in
you.
Longing. Now my body craves to give physical
meaning to the love I feel. I want you. I want to be
in your arms. My skin yearns for your touch. The look
on your face is well known to me - it is the one when
you have finally found the words of your poem. Now it is
just a matter of letting them flow to the pen and take
life on the page.
I rise and go to take a shower. Nothing helps pass
the time more than the cascading water. Lathering my
body it awakens even more. Knowing you are downstairs.
Knowing the pleasures. Wanting. My hands stroke my
body. The soft bubbles of soap creating a sheen. I
wonder if you ever realized that showering, even alone,
is often a form of lovemaking with you. In my mind, it
is not my hands, but yours. The moisture not water, but
passion. The soap not cleanser but lubrication of full
desires.
Finally, toweling off, I ponder. How far along are
you to your latest sonnet? Are you finished? Have I
delayed too long? I want to hurry -but I want more to
come down to you perfect in every way. A light dusting
of my favorite scent, I don the lavender chiffon
nightie. It is short. Hanging just inches below my
hips. Hiding, yet not hiding. The soft satin underlays
conceal -almost- my nipples. Their tautness pushes
against the satin and their form is there to see. The
creamy breasts peek over the top. I pile my hair
carefully atop my head (though that will not last long).
I glance at the lacy panties that were meant to be worn
with the gown. Thinking. Hesitating. I pick them up.
I drop them. Putting them on. No. Removing them. No.
Finally donning them again, I descend to the kitchen.
Your favorite wine has been hidden in the back of
the refrigerator. Chilling for just such a night as
this. I take down two crystal wine glasses from the set
we save for special company. Are we not very special
ourselves? Are you not worth the finest that I can
offer? Quickly rinsing the glasses and placing them in
the freezer for a light frost - not too much, it dilutes
the wine - just so the frost is there on the glass. I
slice the cheese and carefully arrange it. Preparing as
though we were entertaining the most important person.
But then. I am. I want to serve you and you are the
most important person in my universe.
I carry the tray into the den. You are still
sitting in the chair but now your gaze is one of
reflection as you read the words again. I know. You
have now read it numerous times. Searching for the
places it does not meet your approval. Checking. Re-
checking. You glance up. That soft smile melts me.
Then your eyes change as you register my appearance.
No, Darling. I no longer am wearing the sweatshirt and
slacks. Yes. I am dressed for loving. At first I was
going to bring the tray to your chair. But then
thinking more, no. You are finished writing now. Now is
-our- time. Now is for the special foreplay that
arouses me so intensely.
I kneel by the fire, carefully setting the tray on
the glossy maple floor. I lie down. Putting the book
aside that I had been reading, I lie on the pillow. It
pushes my breasts upwards more. I need not ask you.
You rise to come join me. How I love that smoking
jacket. Ahhh. If more men realized that dressing
sensually is not just for women. Knowing you are naked
under it certainly adds to my body's excitement. As you
lie next to me I yearn to caress you. But it is not
time. Not yet.
Smiling. So eager I am. Yet, you seem to tease.
How many poems have you written? How many times have we
begun our passions this way? It does not matter. Each
time is as wonderful as the first and yet, because it is
known, more glorious than the times before. Now is the
time you choose to share. I delight in being the first
to hear the newest creation. I wonder. Do you know
that I listen this first time with my soul? Later we
can edit for form and technique. But this first time,
it is listening from within. This writing is as much you
as your body. It is more so . From its lines, you
share a part of your mind. From the words, you tell
your heart. As you begin to read (recite?), I follow
the feelings. Desires rise. Your voice fills me. I am
wrapped in the wonders of being a woman. How wonderful
it is being like this. With you.
When you finish you look at me for the first time.
Sometimes I think you judge your success by how excited
I am physically. You can be writing about blacktopping
a highway, but at this moment it is as sensual as the
most poignant love story. And, it has much the same
affect. Sipping your wine; I watch your eyes now fully
concentrate on me. You gaze first at my face. Studying
each feature as though seeing me for the first time now.
The firelight reflecting in my eyes.
Finally! You set the glass down and lower yourself
to me. Your mouth covering mine. The kiss begins so
tenderly. First, just your mouth on mine. Then, your
tongue sliding over my lips. Now probing. My mouth
opens. My tongue meets yours. Licks. I slowly
suck you into my mouth.
Our tongues doing a slow waltz. Your arms wrap around
me and draw me closer to you. My arms pulling you
closer to me. Time slows. Your hands are slowly
sliding the gown off my shoulders. You kiss my neck.
Feeling your lips nibbling on my neck sends shudders
through me. The swirling in my groin responds.
Sometimes I think you can carry me to climax without
ever moving further into our lovemaking.
I slide my hands under your smoking jacket.
Feeling the strength of your bare shoulders. Fondling
you. The prolonged desires becoming almost intolerable.
How I want to make love to you to feel you in my body.
Arousing. Stimulating. Carrying me to the outermost
limits of total euphoria. Your hands slowly push the
fabric away as your lips blaze a trail of lust down my
neckline. My hands are busy undoing your sash -removing
the jacket. My gaze delights in the sight of your
strong, masculine chest -and more. Ah. I am not the
only one totally aroused. A smile toys at my lips. Has
anyone ever made love before us? Is this our secret
surrender. It is a merger of two bodies made to enjoy
delights that only loving the person can bring. The
physical act simple. Any animal can do it. But
lovemaking? That, My Dearest, requires a man such as
you. A man who can love with his mind, his heart, and
his body. Anything else is purely exercise.
I am wrapped in an invisible warmth. I bury my
face in the corded muscles of your chest. My lips
nibbling the skin. Sucking. Licking. You move
slightly so you can continue to kiss my lower neck. You
hands now enfolding my large breasts as you have removed
the gown. The nipples pointing to the heavens where my
sensations are carrying me. Your lips seize a nipple
with tantalizing possessiveness. It springs into your
mouth. Your tongue slides over the ridges, your mouth
sucking it in. Your other hand fondles the large glove,
its pink nipple marble hard. Your free hand slides
along my silken belly. Tingling sensations left in its
wake.
I seek your swollen member and grasp it. No
timidness. Desire. I want to feel it with my hand.
Feel the surges. Feel the firmness. In feeling, my
senses reel as though short-circuited. Moisture is
seeping out of me. I tremble under your touch and the
sensations of touching you. My fingers find the small
groove on the underside of your manhood. I massage it.
Up. Down. Slowly. Ever so slowly.
Your hand has moved to my thatch of dark hair.
Your fingers parting a way through. Creeping silently
to the slit. Sliding deftly into it. You find the
knob. Hard. Round. A woman's erection. Shivers of
delight make my body quiver under your touch. You suck
the nipple; roll the knob under the ball of your finger.
Each movement driving me further and further into a
frenzy of sensations. Darling. Dearest.
Moans escape my lips. My body presses towards you.
In accepting your passionate attentions, I give to you
pleasures of allowing you to be the masterful man you
are. A lover. A friend. A man like no other. You have
the power and the skill to stimulate each nerve in my
body. To awaken all the primordial urges that society
seems to wish did not exist. But, under your mastery,
you can give them form. Being. Existence. And, in
giving, you receive. You take my passion and it fuels
yours. Yours, returns to mine in a flood of raw energy
that further ignites my own passions. Together, we can
soar through cloudless skies borne on wings of an energy
that only our bodies can create.
Your finger slides down the slit further - pushing
up. Up into my body. The torrents of liquid soaking
you. My hips matching your pushes. Cries. Whimpers.
My fingers feel the drops of your fluid which are
escaping. I hear your breathing ... heavy now. You
muffle a groan in my breast. Now. Now is the time for
which we have waited. Now. Our bodies are ready. Our
souls are ready. Our love is a rhapsody. Now.
I want you in me. In me as deeply as possible. I
want to feel every inch of your cock deep inside my
body. I roll. Quickly positioning myself before you on
my knees. Spreading my legs to allow you the most
access. The whiteness mounds of my ass given a golden
tinge by the firelight. You move your hand to continue
to caress my clit from between my legs as you rise and
position yourself behind me.
I reach back. Guiding you. Taking your pulsating
cock, I position it at the opening, the juices squeezing
out, onto you. You thrust. Hard. Plunging yourself in
all the way in one firm movement. My cry of delight
fills the room. Movement stops. My cunt muscles
encircle you. Clutching. Vibrating against your
member. Tightly wrapping it in a wet embrace. Passion
pounds the blood through my body. Burning within. A
dizziness sweeps across me. I move back towards you.
You withdraw.
Thrusting in again. Harder and faster than before.
We fall into a rhythm of movements. A choreographer
could not have created our motions with more perfection.
The tempo increases. Each thrust met by a counter-
thrust. Our bodies in exquisite harmony with one
another. Our hearts beating. Pounding out the music to
the unique maestro of passion. I feel the heat of your
body transported through mine by your member plunging in
and out.
Our cries of delight merge. You release the
torrents of fluid to mingle with mine. Thrusting even
deeper as your climax surges through you. My own
merging. My vaginal muscles now in spasms.
The gripping on your member draining it. Taking every
drop. What my body can not hold runs between us.
United as we are.
Time stops.
Lying in your arms, secure, satisfied. I turn and
gently kiss you. No words are needed. We know. We
love. Our giving has been received. Our reception has
been given. We are replenished. A deep feeling of
peace enfolds us and carries us to dreamland where
there is only dreams of love fulfilled.
--
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