Archive-name: SpecMome/dsrtftsy.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Desert Fantasy


lt (This fantasy, along with another more "subtle" one, was
sent to me for use in the SIG on CompuServe, but the uproar
it caused when posted in the database was unbelievable
because too many thought it was to explicit. What's your
reaction to it?)


It is afternoon in the desert when my lover and I meet.  The
sun is cruel, unyielding in its effect.  We can but clasp
hands as we meet; it is far too hot for any closer contact.
Yet in our eyes can be seen the passions that drive us to
this place.  Words would distract; they are not employed.
Each knows the other's fire as an extension of one's own,
flames hotter than the desert this summer day.

As we open the door to our motel room, the sensation of chill
disorients completely.  The past hours of the drive have all
but convinced us that there is nothing in this place but heat.
But just beyond the door, the steady white noise of an air
conditioner breaks the desert silence, even as the cold air it
emits disturbs the desert's otherwise perfect heat.

At last is the time for embracing; at long last is the time
for words.  A spell has been broken, another begun as we learn
each other's ways again, share the dreams, toast the
successes.  Afternoon slips into dusk and then evening.

The fires, so readily banked in the cool of the room, rekindle
at a glance.  Garments fall in exquisite slow motion
choreography, a dance of touching.  Now is the curve of breast
pressed to chest.  Now are the shoulders desirous of kissing,
the hair demanding of caress.

The dance continues.  She rolls the head of my sex between her
fingertips, and strokes along its shaft as it lengths to full
erection.  My fingers find a drop of moisture first, then many
as they lightly trace a pattern of pleasure among the soft
hair between her legs.

Our eyes again signal the want -- the need -- to fuse our
growing excitement into a single sharing.  There are other
times for teasing, they say.  Other times for lingering, for
rocking back and forth.  Other times for hungry mouths and
expressive tongues.  We did not know this moment before it
arrived, yet it is now with us and the ages old theme of
projection into crevice is again enacted.  I plunge, withdraw,
and plunge again; her hips rock in an ever increasing frenzy
matching my own.  We cling to each other, hips leading our
bodies to rhythms from deep within.  And then, a pause.

Poised on the very edge of the momentary insanity that is
orgasm, we hold our breaths and behold its beauty.  Tense,
stretched, we both release a single long cry as it overtakes
us, dissolving thought and words in the face of sensation.  We
have reverted to previous animal selves of purest instinct,
and wanted it to be that way.

As awareness returns we first notice our breathing, labored as
though having finished as victors a race with death itself;
the drone of the air conditioner returns to consciousness.  We
talk of those things that, close as we are, cannot be told at
other times.  Tomorrow will once again find us far apart, not
knowing when we may be able to join again, but for this night
we are united.  We sleep.

--