I read somewhere that you shouldn’t start a story with your
characters in bed.
That’s exactly where my story begins. In a cozy bed sitter,
butt to belly, limbs entangled trying to snatch up that adventurous strand of
hair stuck on my tongue. She touches me; I flinch and say “not now love, but I
want you later”. You are probably saying,
“I have heard this story before”.
Kisses…caresses…pressing…rising…consuming…then one of you
lights a cigarette, and waves the smoke away after each drag. Disgusting habit
but that’s how the story always goes. No fancy pants sadomasochistic red room
of pain or 7 acrobats and a Bengal tiger hanging from the curtain rails kind of
sex. But isn’t that the story of sex, the kind of everyday ordinary sex that
builds a relationship.
In this warm
bedsitter, we eat, we watch TV, gossip about the neighbors then gravitate
towards the bed… to sleep or to talk; there are details the hurried hectic
weekday pace has probably let slip by. She
chuckles, I giggle and we laugh. She talks about money, family, people,
religion, government you name it. I believe her. Whatever she says, I believe
her. I tell her my fears, hopes and dreams. She listens. I whine about my
Sasquatch feet, impossibly high cheek bones and everything about me that is a
source of embarrassment. She laughs, but she still listens. A tentative kiss…the
way her warm hands and dainty fingers dance across my taut skin is a bonding. I
spread myself wider for her, vulnerable, needing and she moans into my lips.
You knew this was going to happen. It is happening. Just ordinary…
We are not making ripples in the outside world. Tiny
whimpers, small shudders and her fingers positioned exquisitely. I arch for
her, I arch to her, and I love her with my whole being as she worships my
temple. I want more, I want it all! She has the good sense not to stop, but I
tell her not to stop… just in case. Letting herself flow with the currents of
my passion, she fondles, licks and sucks. My hips rock, buckle and grind with
urgency. We lose our individual selves and find each other in this quivering
mass of pleasure. Sometimes, if I withhold the moans, the feelings are
intensified. Sometimes, I don’t have much of a choice. The sound comes from
deep inside…out of this clenching and unclenching writhing intensity of pure
unadulterated delight. She makes small affirming sounds as I cling tight onto
her, imploding…and completely spent. She
cradles my head in her arms and smiles fondly down at me and teases, “how about
that for ordinary?” She takes pride in pleasing me.
It is all part of the package; the ordinary stories, the
ordinary sex, the coming and most importantly, a lovely companion to share it
all with.
