I am all alone when I reach under the sheets for myself. In this hushed chasm of night, she is not with me. She has never been this close.
And while she has never known about my quiet time, when the blood has settled in its pendulum swing to my midsection, it has been implied. She has been made more than aware of my desire for her. I have told her that, like a nocturnal predator, I will devour her if I catch her scent. I have said it all in so many words.
Some of them have been these:
I met you in your kitchen. You were the host of a great and drunken party. There was a fire in the half light of the backyard that mirrored the fire I felt when we met.
You made no real communication with your eyes. But we shook hands anyway. That was the only time we touched.
Still I feel you all the way over here. Miles and miles away, and a lifetime beyond. I am pressing my entire body into this bed, filling up this entire room with the heat of everything I would do to you. Say to you.
I picture you, always, in your kitchen with that dress, low-cut on the top and your golden skin rich and deep all the way down between your chest. Your tiny fingers I think about tracing the curves in my lips. Your petite frame pressed into mine. Your ballet legs wrapped around me. Face to face, I am paralyzed by the idea of you watching me. As your metric eyes measure the pleasure of this heat.
I remember seeing you walk upstairs, that first night we met. For awhile you disappeared in your own house.
We didn’t know each other. And I had never been in your house – but I cannot let go of this idea of trailing you up those stairs. Because you are giving me a tour. With nobody looking, I run two fingers up your leg, peeling back your dress to get a glimpse of how everything works.
Once we round the corner to upper floor, where nobody can see us, you lace your fingers childishly in mine – tugging me onward. The adrenaline blacks-out the sounds from down below.
Teasingly you say, this is the bathroom. This is the linen closet…
It’s not so much that I want to fall in love with you as it is that I want to drown myself in this secret intoxication. I want to devour all of you more than care for you. I want you to be my clandestine plaything. My lover.
As you open the door to a bedroom, I press my fingers into your neck. In a near massage, I have your attention and I hear you exhale. The wispy breathe creates a small, pulsing tornado of silence in the hair dangling in front of your face. Before you step forward into the next room you cross the threshold by turning and offering me your lips.
But we don’t have time for a slow reveal.
I am hungry for you and you know this. You are hungry for me and your husband is downstairs and we both know this.
You pirouette around to land with your whole body pressing into mine. Our mouths leaping into the others, whetting at the taste of our converging appetites.
I reach around, sliding my hands under your ass – at once learning your feel, kneeding you and peeling your tiny panties to the side so I can allow greater access to your core temperature. Your center heat.
As you climb up and into me, my fingers find your holes and tease them.
You are already wet and so I drop down and throw my hands up and into your inner thighs, pinning you against the door jamb. You are gasping for air as I bury my tongue inside your folds, circling your clit with powerful strokes.
Just to satiate my appetite.
I want this: that first taste.
I don’t want complications afterwards. I just want this; here and now. I just want that first taste and not the last stand or the future’s uncertainty.
I want this savagely. And you, bent over, with your panties to the side and my hands flying up and down your torso; pinching and kneeding and grasping at everything that is not mine and will never be mine.
With your ass pressed into me, I picture myself sliding into you as you whimper. You are clinging to the doorway as if we have opened up into a room that never before existed in this house. Your house.
Everything around us is growing. The light. The space. This newfound place.
As I begin to pump into you, your whimper blossoms into a cry and so my hand flies up to meet your mouth with a cup of silence. I grip your lips and feel you press back into me. My fingers run inside, behind your teeth, over your tongue. And you clamp down, taking all of my cock inside you.
Still halfway in the hall, so that we can see any shadows coming up the stairs – I am pulsing with your intoxicating juices suctioning me closely into you.
Pulling all the way out, I slip back inside you and begin fucking you. Not loving you. Not caring for you, but rather – fucking you with every primal impulse I have carried with me since the Dark Ages and antiquity. And you fuck me back, not wanting more. Not wanting anything less. Not even my name for an introduction to your husband after this is done.
Reaching around for your engorged clit and swollen lips, I run my fingers around the entire situation that is now my slick cock and your soaked cunt pulsing and accepting the fury of our savage meeting.
We don’t have much time and so you pull me out and drop to your knees, taking my cock into your hand. In a fitted rage you begin pumping my cock, alternately staring into my eyes and waiting for me to erupt. Your free hand slides around my wet balls, underneath and then up to my nipples.
Not five seconds later and I feel the swirling heat of all this surging through me. From the top of my head it comes, rushing into my gut and then with my quiet vocalization you take my cock in your mouth where I explode and you graciously take all of my juices, swallowing me nearly whole.
In this fantasy, I do not remember getting myself back together, or what is said just before we walk back down the stairs. But laying in my solitary bed miles and lifetimes away from this imagined possibility, with my juices sprayed on my stomach, I think about how my thirst is still unquenched. And how I want to swallow you whole, tasting every naughty molecule of your sex as you did mine. In that hallway of fantasy.
And as I drift off to sleep, I fall back to the reality of this quiet room. And the darkened night. And I think about how solitary and alone I was walking into your door for that first time. And in the same kind of reverse, I think about how I walked out of it: Alone and with the sound of your summer night’s party swirling up and into the night like a great din.