eros, logos: Waves

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Waves

There's something so achingly sweet about recapturing some of that same nervous and heady excitement of being a teenager discovering sex. Like driving down a road late on a summer night with the lights out, head out the window, wanting to just drown in that rush of the deeply scented country night air. I remember one summer, the secret swimming place, the green field, the ruined and abandoned barn we got high in during the day, and the cornfield we fucked in at night. The stone wall we'd climb to get into the cemetary, the full moon so bright it cast shadows. He'd lie on top of me, shaking, his cock so hard it didn't feel like flesh, the way we'd each feel the heat through our jeans. Not my home, that place, at all, but that knowledge of my transience there made me savour it all in advance.

This is like the heat you and I generate here and now, and you make me feel all that same vertigo, that head spinning giddiness of that time. The kind that would make me run out naked in the field then through the waving grass, or go swimming naked at midnight with others, or one summer night made me make my boyfriend lean back in the hammock while I knelt alongside it and alternately took him in my mouth and pumped his now-slippery cock in my fist, making him wait, slowing down, starting up, keeping him on the edge, watching his face, his head thrown back. I felt drunk on teenage hormones and country air and the discovery of sensual love, giddy with discovery of pleasure and how to give it, in love with knowledge and finding it. The beginnings of my love affair with cock really start here, with me on my knees watching his face in the moonlight while I kept him on the edge interminably, and felt myself wetter and wetter for it--we were fifteen, sixteen.

And you lie on top of me here on my couch, dressed, we don't immediately get naked as I would wish, you lie of top of me kissing me instead. You press your cock against me, and I can't bear it, I beg you to take our clothes off--I can't stand the way my jeans are rubbing me now, I need your fingers or mouth there. But instead we're making out like teenagers. These long deep kisses that leave my center hot and molten, that same awareness of and exquisite sensitivity to every touch and shift. Your hand slides up and I arch my back, pressing my breast into your cupped palm, my nipple springing up hard there and eager, ready and begging for your thumb, your teeth, your lips closing on it, your tongue. Just like I would have done then. I never could bother even then with these artifical constraints on desire, the demand that women conform to a required female pretence of not wanting it. No time to make it to my bed even, and you won't take my jeans off, and finally I have to beg you, because I'm going to come just from this, still dressed, my legs wrapped around you and the way we're straining together, the way you're fucking me without fucking me.

When it's at last too much for you too and you strip me and yourself, you fuck me now not like a teenager would, but the way we do. You drive into me and fuck me with long full and slow thrusts, giving me the full length and breadth of your cock and then withdrawing almost completely, before you bury yourself in me again to the hilt, stealing my breath and your own. I twist against you, gasping, and after several slow deep sweet thrusts like this you stop, pull out, and kneel over me, giving your cock over to my mouth. I want to taste myself on you, and I need your cock in my mouth. I feel you trembling, I know you want to come now. You don't want to stop, you want to fuck my mouth and throat now, your hands are in my hair, and I encourage you, grabbing your hips, pulling you into my mouth. That taste of you, and that tangy/sweet taste of me coating your cock-- suddenly as much as I crave for you to fuck me I just want your come pouring down my throat. I push your hips away and then pull them into me, encouraging you to move like that, to fuck me. You thrust, you want to be gentle and so I always need to show you that you can fuck my mouth like you do my cunt-- I know now from your shaking that you want to come, but you also have to be inside me again, you're not done fucking me, no. You need to take my cunt again, and make me come on your cock.

And so you go back, slow and deep, now faster and harder, pulling out, dragging the head of your cock across my clit, teasing me, slippery, you make me frantic, and then you start to tell me to come for you, you plead with me and I can deny you nothing, I can't fail to listen to this tender filthy stream of words and commands, and I have to come on your cock now when you tell me to. Clenching around you, pulling you into me not only with my arms and my legs wrapped around you and my hands clutching, but with the muscles in my cunt itself clenching and clutching around your cock, and you stay hard and fuck me through my shaking and out of it and back into it, coming with me when I come again helplessly. Collapsed on top of me and our breathing slowing, you tenderly brush my hair off my face where sweat has made it stick and you kiss me again, no less passionately and deeply and fully, sated. Lifting yourself off me you stroke your swollen and shining cock with one hand, raising your palm to your mouth to taste us, and the expression on your face then, that unconscious dreamy movement, your halfclosed eyes as your tongue cleans your palm of us, this makes me fall in love with your erotic self all over again and with the way you fuck me. I lie still here, naked and spread with the insides of my thighs still shivering and shiny-slick from how hard you made me come and how wet you made me, and I watch you walk naked to my kitchen, coming back with the white wine and one glass for us both. But before I'll share that taste with you I pull you to me again while you stand over me, I wont let you sit or lie down until I clean off your softening and tender cock with my tongue, lovingly. A minute later when I release you we smell and taste our sex on the glass and our hands as we share that communion, the wine breaks over my tongue just like that taste of you and me. Clean, crisp, sharp yet sweet, it lingers.

That's what I taste on your own tongue when you kiss me again, pulling me naked into your lap to lie against you, and I lie quivering over you, a trembling net flung over you.

Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.
James Wright, A Blessing

a blogday present, from my Philia, Lumivox, here.

posted by O @ 07:17