I awoke. The room was still dark. The rain drummed against the window panes with a threatening intensity. A confusing warmth engulfed me… a naked softness that I was unused to. I attuned my senses to what I was feeling, breathing in…deeply. The lingering notes of the scent of sex, clean cotton shrouding us and the warmth of her perfume between her breasts…musky after our earlier exertions …aroused me. My head rested on her bare bosom, my lips inches from a dark pink tipped nipple, my arm flung over her stomach…fingers splayed with a possessiveness I thought them incapable of. I was pressed against the heat of her womanhood. Her soft downy hair tickled my skin and I suddenly itched to run my fingers through them and cup her warmly. To let her know I was here. Wanting her.
Earlier in the evening…
She stood next to me as I looked at the painting. Her eyes on my face. I turned my attention towards her searching gaze. She stepped closer to me and reached for my scarf, wrapped around my neck. She slowly began unwinding it, her fingertips grazing my skin.
“I still think it looks like a pig…”
I said it to fake nonchalance but I was furiously turned on. The painting was a totem to the first time my lips had touched a woman intimately and the memory of it was brutally vivid.
“I think so too…”
She had me unwrapped and threw my scarf onto the couch. I had to touch her. She placed her hands on my waist, and I cradled her cheeks with my hands. I stared at her, taking in the details that were both blurry and new. My eyes wandered up that dusky collarbone, the sinewy muscles of her neck, the soft cheeks I caressed, the firm nose …her eyes. I looked into her eyes. She wanted me. And oddly at that moment, with my thumb running over her lips, her tongue fleetingly tasting it… I hesitated. I knew what we were to embark on tonight. But I had never slept with a woman I had known before. My sexual experiences were temporally confined to a night. With a new face. Each time. I worried about what how she would make me feel, I worried about how I would make her feel.
“I cant… can’t make any promises”
She shook her head gently, her fingers unbuttoning my shirt. ”You don’t have to”….My shirt fell of my shoulders assisted by the wandering hands that deftly unclasped my bra and pulled it of. She unhurriedly stared at my newly exposed skin. And I stood there unashamed…naked from the waist up in her living room as she took me in, my nipples hardening under her scrutiny. I kissed her then. Slowly and deeply. With all the finesse and familiarity of bygone time. I tasted her lips, her sweet tongue. Not from memory but in astonishing tummy tickling reality. As we broke away, she gently grasped me around my stomach and started walking backwards. “Bedroom…” I nodded. She shrugged out of her t-shirt while I reached out for her pants, easing them over her hips as she walked. She kicked them off to a dark corner. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
In the bedroom, she switched on a dim bedside lamp and sat on the edge of her low bed. She urged me forward in front of her. With her eyes focused intensely on her task, she undid my belt. Watching her slowly undress me …uncover my body… I felt myself cream with wetness. Her tongue laved my hip bone while she pulled my jeans down and exposed my sex. Open mouthed kisses littered my stomach. She nuzzled my closely trimmed mound. Her hot breath swirling around my nub. “Oh god…” I wanted her on me. I wanted her mouth and tongue on my most intimate parts. Only she could turn their throbbing ache into pleasure. I moaned “…Please…” She kindly obliged.
In the following few hours, She and I exhausted our bodies and our minds. I liked to talk during sex.I liked to say what I saw and felt and needed… She did too. Our carnal pleasures became a conversation unlike any other. To vocally describe her dusky brown nipples before I touched them, to have her tell me how wet her sex was before I felt it, to whimper, gasp and moan our desire was deliciously and paradoxically sensual. When I woke, I needed her all over again. To touch her and hear her respond to my caresses and kisses so when I made love to her body, she made love to my mind. When I finally inched up her torso of delights after my mouth had kissed, sucked and tasted her to orgasmic content – I had nothing to say. Nothing seemed adequate. So I kissed her slowly. I tasting her one more time, she tasting herself on me. “You are beautiful” Her swollen lips curved into a slow smile. The back of her fingers caressing my cheek.
“Even though I kept that horrid painting…? Mmm…? ”
“Despite that… the painting knows a secret”
“What is that?”
“It knows my first kiss”
She gasped. A thrilling husky gasp that was quickly becoming my favourite sound that night.
“I was…your first?”
“Mmm…hmm”
“I have something to confess too….”
“What might that be?”
“You were the first woman I’d ever kissed”
I chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you lured me into your boudoir now and not then…”
“You were an adult you know…Didn’t think you could get it up at 18?”, She teased.
I replied, “Oh for sure…its just that where you and I come from? nowadays?”
“Mmm..?” She looked at me curiously.
“They tell me this is legal.”
The End.
