I rap at your door; my facial expression set to “hang-dog”. It’s one of those terrible moments where I am dread the door opening, yet I quietly hope to God you’re in. Silence. No, the door’s handle clicks and opens. Laughter explodes from your mouth. Yeah, laugh it up! A hand rises to quell the joyous, if guilty, peals. Your voice is laced with mordant sympathy.
“Aww! You’re soaking wet! Wait. I’ll find you a towel and … a little something.”
You return momentarily, having changed into something more ‘comfortable’, towelling at my rain-streaked face and saturated shirt. You kiss me as a wry smile cracks my face.
Our candied lips part as you shrink from me – your bare feet again flat with the floor. The fingers of my right hand fall gently from around your neck and snare in the silver pendant so adorned. Tracing it with my index finger, you daintily bite at your lower lip as your right hand “accidentally” brushes against my hip. Ravenous, covetous, green eyes at close quarters devour me. God! Between her smile and your eyes ... I’m a lucky, lucky man. I wanna tell you just how good it feels.
“Hi.” Diffidence accents my greeting as I take your hands. Finger-gap to finger-gap, an unbroken silence endures as we take a moment to watch one another. You’re enjoying this just as much as I.
“Hi.”
Your eyelids flutter as you rise onto your toes again to kiss my cheek. You said to me once that I may have a mild stroke from your accent. I have a thing... for accents. Same goes for me. The lilt in your voice is just – oh …
A month has passed since we were last together, but it feels like an age. Choruses of “I miss you” and variations on that theme were not enough. It would seem that both our thoughts are bent on making up for lost time.
Tucking brunette tresses behind your bejewelled ear, I kiss your neck. Was that a whimper? My hand glides with the sensitivity of a feather down your slender arms and waist. Tracing the curve of your hip through the lace, I pull you closer. Curling my hands around the small of your back and kissing your shoulder, I feel your eyes watching me as my hand’s journey changes direction: upward toward your midriff and chest. Taking your left hand in both of mine, I rub at the palm with my two thumbs and open out your perfect fingers. Your hand extends over my cheek. Smooth, soft, cool skin is abraded by two days’ stubble.
Your green eyes, darker than my own, sweep my face seeking, yearning for, a white flag. I stubbornly remain impervious. Be gone wicked enchantress! I want to surrender, to submit entirely, but while there’s fight in me yet, you will have to work for it. Bedroom carte blancheis not something I give away lightly.
Caught between your comely hips and the table, I’ve half perched on the table to hide the weakness in my suddenly gelatinous knees. I don’t think I can stand. And still you press. I have to do something about this. My eyes dart around the room: to my left – the bed, beyond, the balcony; to my right – the kitchen bench, bathroom and the door (no chance); directly behind you is the couch. OK, Stu, decision time!
Muffled by the proximity of our lips, I somehow manage to utter “bedroom”. Your fingers claw at my sopping shirt. As if by magic and before I realise, it’s slipped from the arm of the couch two steps behind you and onto the floor.
“Stop”
Now there’s a word I never expected from your lips. It’s more a command than a request. I turn to catch a glimpse of your shimmering rose petal lips as you sink. It should be me falling to your feet. A brazen smile cracks your lips. Not for the first time, my mouth shudders with a sigh.
Teasing you at the critical moment, I take a further step backward toward the bed. Beaten in that instant, your lip retreats into your mouth as you stifle a giggle. You look up at me coyly, agape, half expecting me to pull the same trick again, but I’m not one to press my luck. You regain your feet as I bend to kiss the supple skin just above your navel.
Righting myself, my fingers clasp onto and tighten around your willowy wrists to pull you forward. Your almost feline body elongates over mine. Saccharine aromas again fill my nostrils as the heels of your hands press firmly into my shoulders. Your lips steal onto mine as our eyes dance together again. Distended, I yield.
Dawn arrives and you’re sprawled beside me resting your head in that little hollow between my shoulder and my chest. Twisted and dishevelled grey sheets only partially cover you, me and the bed as white sparkles of sunlight flit over us.
“Morning” It’s a word is pushed into my ears by honey-softened lips and instantly melts. I wish I could drink them. My reply is whispered. Words I would not share with anyone but you. Curling my arm around you, I again stroke at the hair above your left ear. You kiss the corner of my jaw. A deft hand slides across my bare chest. A milky cool thigh presses against me as I feel your eyes fix on me.
“Do you have to go?”
“Yeah”
Lithe arms peel the sheets away and push your slight frame out of bed. You stoop to kiss me as my own lips meet your hip. Cradling my head between your hands, I feel this is our last moment together. Syllables from words unspoken swirl over my tongue; the whole of my mouth is now frozen behind my sealed lips. They’re implicit. The delicate touch of your ivory fingers on my face diminishes. And you’re gone.
“Aww! You’re soaking wet! Wait. I’ll find you a towel and … a little something.”
You return momentarily, having changed into something more ‘comfortable’, towelling at my rain-streaked face and saturated shirt. You kiss me as a wry smile cracks my face.
Our candied lips part as you shrink from me – your bare feet again flat with the floor. The fingers of my right hand fall gently from around your neck and snare in the silver pendant so adorned. Tracing it with my index finger, you daintily bite at your lower lip as your right hand “accidentally” brushes against my hip. Ravenous, covetous, green eyes at close quarters devour me. God! Between her smile and your eyes ... I’m a lucky, lucky man. I wanna tell you just how good it feels.
“Hi.” Diffidence accents my greeting as I take your hands. Finger-gap to finger-gap, an unbroken silence endures as we take a moment to watch one another. You’re enjoying this just as much as I.
“Hi.”
Your eyelids flutter as you rise onto your toes again to kiss my cheek. You said to me once that I may have a mild stroke from your accent. I have a thing... for accents. Same goes for me. The lilt in your voice is just – oh …
A month has passed since we were last together, but it feels like an age. Choruses of “I miss you” and variations on that theme were not enough. It would seem that both our thoughts are bent on making up for lost time.
Tucking brunette tresses behind your bejewelled ear, I kiss your neck. Was that a whimper? My hand glides with the sensitivity of a feather down your slender arms and waist. Tracing the curve of your hip through the lace, I pull you closer. Curling my hands around the small of your back and kissing your shoulder, I feel your eyes watching me as my hand’s journey changes direction: upward toward your midriff and chest. Taking your left hand in both of mine, I rub at the palm with my two thumbs and open out your perfect fingers. Your hand extends over my cheek. Smooth, soft, cool skin is abraded by two days’ stubble.
Your green eyes, darker than my own, sweep my face seeking, yearning for, a white flag. I stubbornly remain impervious. Be gone wicked enchantress! I want to surrender, to submit entirely, but while there’s fight in me yet, you will have to work for it. Bedroom carte blancheis not something I give away lightly.
Caught between your comely hips and the table, I’ve half perched on the table to hide the weakness in my suddenly gelatinous knees. I don’t think I can stand. And still you press. I have to do something about this. My eyes dart around the room: to my left – the bed, beyond, the balcony; to my right – the kitchen bench, bathroom and the door (no chance); directly behind you is the couch. OK, Stu, decision time!
Muffled by the proximity of our lips, I somehow manage to utter “bedroom”. Your fingers claw at my sopping shirt. As if by magic and before I realise, it’s slipped from the arm of the couch two steps behind you and onto the floor.
“Stop”
Now there’s a word I never expected from your lips. It’s more a command than a request. I turn to catch a glimpse of your shimmering rose petal lips as you sink. It should be me falling to your feet. A brazen smile cracks your lips. Not for the first time, my mouth shudders with a sigh.
Teasing you at the critical moment, I take a further step backward toward the bed. Beaten in that instant, your lip retreats into your mouth as you stifle a giggle. You look up at me coyly, agape, half expecting me to pull the same trick again, but I’m not one to press my luck. You regain your feet as I bend to kiss the supple skin just above your navel.
Righting myself, my fingers clasp onto and tighten around your willowy wrists to pull you forward. Your almost feline body elongates over mine. Saccharine aromas again fill my nostrils as the heels of your hands press firmly into my shoulders. Your lips steal onto mine as our eyes dance together again. Distended, I yield.
Dawn arrives and you’re sprawled beside me resting your head in that little hollow between my shoulder and my chest. Twisted and dishevelled grey sheets only partially cover you, me and the bed as white sparkles of sunlight flit over us.
“Morning” It’s a word is pushed into my ears by honey-softened lips and instantly melts. I wish I could drink them. My reply is whispered. Words I would not share with anyone but you. Curling my arm around you, I again stroke at the hair above your left ear. You kiss the corner of my jaw. A deft hand slides across my bare chest. A milky cool thigh presses against me as I feel your eyes fix on me.
“Do you have to go?”
“Yeah”
Lithe arms peel the sheets away and push your slight frame out of bed. You stoop to kiss me as my own lips meet your hip. Cradling my head between your hands, I feel this is our last moment together. Syllables from words unspoken swirl over my tongue; the whole of my mouth is now frozen behind my sealed lips. They’re implicit. The delicate touch of your ivory fingers on my face diminishes. And you’re gone.