Archive-name: SpecMome/mountain.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Mountain


     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 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 lacey panties that were meant to be worn with the gown. 
Thinking.  Hestitating.  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 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 intensly.
     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 moreso.  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
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
delightly 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 timidity.  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 a
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 replentished.  A
deep feeling of peace enfolds us and carries us to dreamland where
there is only dreams of love fulfilled.
 
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