To Dance Together

She was a dancer. He loved dancing. He loved watching it. He loved doing it.

He saw her, for the first time, at a restaurant. He had gone there to eat a meal and there she was, performing. At the sight of her, he was unable to eat his meal. All he could do was watch her.

The stage was tiny, but she did not need much space to move. She could have danced her whole set in three square feet. That was how tight her moves were. Her arms, expressive. Her face, lost in the music. Her waist, supple and slinky. Her hips. Oh, god! Her hips. They swayed and swirled and popped perfectly with the music, sending her skirts out in corresponding ripples.

She was sensuality embodied.

As he sat at his table, eyes fixed on her, breathing deeply, he wanted nothing more than to join her. What would it be like to swirl his hips against hers, to match those organic, serpentine movements with his own? The thought drove him wild. He had seen a lot of dancers. He had danced with a lot of women, but she was different.

The piece she danced to was slow and sultry. A taqsim, they called it. Her eyelids were low, almost closed. Her hair was loose around her face, falling forward as her head swayed with the emotion of the music. Her arms were graceful, reaching out and in, framing her face, her torso, her hips. She used them to great effect. His body responded to hers. Unconsciously, he made small movements with his hips, mimicking hers. His hands moved subtly in his lap, tracing the lines of her body from afar as he followed them with his eyes. As the piece came to an end, she slowed into a resting pose and gradually looked up at her audience.

The room was small, intimate. The lights in the restaurant were low, with brighter ones trained on her, but not so bright that she was blind to the audience. She scanned the clientele, taking in their appreciation. At last, she looked in his direction and saw him. For a moment, she faltered. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but he saw it. More than that, he felt it, and what was clear to him was that she felt something, too.

She recovered immediately, putting on a beautiful smile and striking a new pose, working her audience as the next song came on. It was a fast one, energetic and lively and she jumped into it with relish. The audience was right with her, clapping and singing. Clearly it was one they knew and expected. He watched her as she began to work the room. Oh. This was her money song. Excellent. She would, eventually, come to him. She made her way around the room, dancing, singing and interacting with the audience. She visited the tables one by one, dancing a little, getting the patrons up to dance with her, then offering her hip or shoulder for them to put money in her costume. She saved his table for last.

She came up to him and offered him her amazing smile. She was breathless and sweating from her exertions, and it made her all the more attractive. He started to get up to dance with her, but she firmly put her hand on his shoulder and shook her head. Her movements were playful, part of the public performance, but her eyes were serious. The look in them was one of desire and wariness all mixed up together. She would dance for his table. He was not to join her. Not here. Not now. He stayed put.

She danced a little next to him and when the song ended she hit the final note with a flourish and a pop, sticking her hip out. He was right there. He put a folded bill into the waistband of her costume. He wanted nothing more than to grab her by those luscious hips and pull her down into his lap. Instead, he barely brushed her skin with his fingertip, feeling a jolt of electricity and pleasure as he did. She flinched, but her intake of breath told him it was from excitement, not repulsion.

So, he was not wrong. He was interpreting her signals correctly. But the set was over, and she disappeared.


When she emerged from the restaurant some time later, he was waiting for her. He waited at a safe distance from the door. He did not want to scare her. The last thing he wanted her to think was that he was a stalker. Yes, he wanted her as much as anything he had ever wanted, but if she did not feel the same way, he was not going to put any pressure on her at all.


She saw him waiting for her and hesitated, unsure of what to do. Women in her profession got stalked all the time. Particularly in parking lots, in the middle of the night, by guys who had watched their sets and gotten the wrong idea. She looked at him critically. This man was different, somehow. She had felt a connection to him, and she was unsure how to proceed.

She carried an alarm with her. It was a small device. A little ring hooked on to the button of her jacket pocket. It was attached to a string which was, in turn, attached to a noise maker she held in her hand. If she gestured largely enough, the string would pull out of the noise maker, setting off a sound of about 120 decibels. Everyone on the block would know she was in trouble and this guy would be deaf. She kept her hand in her pocket as she approached.


As he watched her walk towards him, he was mesmerized. It wasn’t just a stage thing. This was how she moved. Slippery and smooth, like a piece of silk on the wind. God, he wanted to match those movements with his own.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied.

“I have never seen someone quite like you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, albeit one I have heard before,” she countered, seriously. But, she did smile.

“I’m not some stalker. I know, I know. They all say that and I am no different. Please. I don’t want to scare you off. I waited for you because I could not do anything else. If you want to simply leave, I won’t follow you or try and keep you here.”

“That’s good to know.”

“What I really want, is to dance with you.”

“Dance with me?” She replied, surprised.

“Yeah. The way you moved. The way you move. It enthralls me. I can’t get enough of it. But, I don’t just want to watch you. You see, I also love to dance. I love to move to music, to feel the underlying currents and become a part of them. I see how the music affects you and how you live in it, through it. I would love to join you in that dance. If you would let me.”


She was taken aback. That certainly was not what she had expected to hear. And the thing that really threw her was that she believed him. All her instincts and crazy radars told her this guy was sincere.

He continued. “I can see by the look in your eyes that I have surprised you. Well, if I am going to prove to you that you can trust me, I have to be honest. So, here is the reality of it. You are the most sensual thing I have ever seen. I am a man and you are an Aphrodite. So, do I want you? Oh yeah. Like crazy. If you would invite me to your bed, I would be there in a heartbeat. But, more than that, right now, what I want to do is dance with you. That would be so much. That would be more than enough.”

Again, she blinked. Then, irrationally she found herself saying, “My studio is just around the corner. Follow me there.”


He did.


When they arrived, she hesitated before getting out of her car. She did not feel any of the usual red flags going up. This guy was attractive. Absolutely. But, she did not believe that was clouding her judgement. She did not feel as though she were in danger. That said, she had a decision to make. Was she willing to have sex with this man? Because, if she opened the door to her studio and let him in, that is where this would lead. Even though he had said he would be content with dancing with her, she needed to get real. It was the middle of the night. He was a guy who had watched her set. Maybe he had not gotten the wrong idea, but he had certainly gotten ideas. She had not managed to protect herself this long by being stupid. If she got out of her car, she had to be willing to take him to bed.

She looked over at his car. He was sitting in it patiently. Waiting for her. There was no pressure coming from him. This was up to her. She had to admit to herself that she was turned on by this situation. To mix her dancing with sex? She didn’t get this opportunity often. How many nights had she left her studio physically exhausted by her exertions, yet fully aroused by her practice and totally unsatisfied. And if this guy really could dance, well, this would be a treat. She made her decision.


He still did not want to spook her, so he made sure to follow her lead. Only when she finally got out of her car, did he get out of his. When she walked to the door of the studio, he hung back until she unlocked the door, opened it, and gestured for him to enter. Only then did he make any move toward her. He went into the studio and she followed him, closing the door behind them.

The studio was like any other. It had a wooden floor, mirrors and bars along the walls, and various dancing accessories stacked in the corners. There were a few plants, as well as other decorations here and there. Mostly, it was just an open space. It was a space that invited movement and experimentation. She put down her bag and proceeded to close the shades. That was a good sign. She had decided to trust him. She had no particular reason to, but she was right to. He meant her no harm. He was captivated by her. He wanted to be close to her body. He wanted to feel it and to adore it. He would take this as far as she would allow it to go and be forever thankful that he got that much. He watched ardently as she went through the mundane movements. He took in every contour of her body as she reached and bent, straightening the shutters.

“Take off your shoes.” She said. He did as he was told and she did the same. She took off her jacket and dropped it on top of her bag. She was dressed in a form fitting top, leggings and a sash. He was in jeans and a tight t-shirt. She looked at him, appraisingly, as he studied her. He thought that he saw approval in her eyes.

She walked to the stereo in the corner and hooked up her iPod. She shuffled through the device, made her choices and pushed play. The music came on. It was heavy and deep. He recognized the artist. Tarkan. One of his favorite Turkish musicians. Solid music. Also totally sexy. She walked out onto the floor. Paused, then began to dance.

They were small movements at first. She looked directly at him as she moved. She was sizing him up just as much as he was her. She was also performing. A private performance, just for him. And in this performance, she was telling him what to do. She used her hands to frame particular parts of her body. She smoothed her hands across her hips….look here. She ran her fingers through her hair….see how it frames my face. She tilted her face down looking from her own hips to his eyes….how do you like this? She turned around watching him over her shoulder as she danced….and what about this view?

He liked it. He liked it a lot. He stood for some time, watching this intimate exhibition, waiting for his invitation to join. After a time, she gave him a look and a gesture that said…so, and you? He took the opening. He was no stranger to dancing and certainly not to the movements of hips. He began to move to the music. His movements were as sensual as hers, but virile, masculine versions. Her answering look told him she approved of and enjoyed what she saw. Good.

She paused and watched him for a while, smiling while he circled her, performing for her and marking her as his territory in this increasingly seductive game. When her eyes began to twinkle and she licked he lower lip with a wicked smile, he knew the moment was right. He made his way towards her, every footstep matching the music. When he was close enough, he reached out his hands and placed them on those luscious, sensual hips. At last! They were exactly as he had imagined: smooth, curvy, pliable, perfect. She responded by putting one of her hands on his shoulder and the other on his muscular chest. As her hand touched him, she breathed in with approval. His shoulder was muscled and strong, as was his pectoral muscle. She caressed it, admiringly, then smiled up at him.


To move in rhythmic tandem with someone is sensuality in motion, and they began to move together, manifesting that sensuality. The melodies told them when to move their feet. The beat of the music told them when to move their hips. The harmonies told them when to move closer together or father apart. They were close in height, so they were well matched on the dance floor. He pulled her hips close against him so that they could move smoothly over the floor. She responded by leaning into him, melding her body with his. The music swept them away.

To merge two bodies into one in a dance is as intimate as sex, and they became immersed in that intimacy. His hands were on her, guiding her, leading her through moves. Hers were on him, anchoring her as she followed his lead. They needed their hands for balance and position, but their dance progressed beyond that simple, practical contact. They relished the feel of each other’s bodies, their hands a conduit for sensual communication. They did not speak. They were movement and breath.

As they cycled through many styles and speeds of dance, they became more and more familiar with each other. Their movements became bodily caresses. His chest was hard and warm against her, her breasts were soft and supple against him. Their touches became more and more intimate and they began taking seductive liberties here and there. His hand on her waist descended to fondle her buttocks. Her hand on his chest moved enticingly far down to explore his abs. The game heated up and became more playful. When he led her into a twirl, she purposefully pulled him closer, enabling her to breathe deeply of his natural scent and the smell of his sweat. When she turned to dance with her back to him, he pulled her hips in to his, allowing him to take in her scent and grind his pelvis against hers. When he finally dipped her, he did it so he was able to bring his face close to her neck. As his nose brushed her skin, heard her suck in her breath. He took it as consent and put his mouth upon her.


The dance had woken her. She had been tired after her set, but this intimate dance was altogether invigorating, relaxing and arousing. There was no work in it, just pure pleasure. He was athletic, and graceful. He was also hot, and the movements of his body only made him more appealing. If this was how his body moved on the dance floor, the translation to a more horizontal dance was obvious. She knew how she looked to him. It was written all over his face and his body. He thought she was sex in motion. He was on fire for her and totally aroused. She could see that through his jeans. But, he was behaving like gentleman. As much as he clearly wanted her, he seemed to want the dancing just as much. She felt the same way, and it made her bold and willingly yielding.

When he dipped her and brushed her neck, she could not help the sound that escaped her lips. When his mouth touched her, she gasped. He held her there, suspended below him, kissing her neck, working his way down toward her collarbone. She wrapped her arms around him and held on as her legs became liquid.


Gently, he lowered her to the floor. Then, they were all over each other. The reserve that had defined their dance, the restrained foreplay, gone. Their movements were all heat and passion. His mouth was all over her and her hands were all over him.

As he kissed her, she reached down and tugged his shirt free of the waist of his pants, dragging it up his back and over his head. When she saw his chest, smooth and slim and muscled, she moaned with delight, then flipped him over. She sat on top of him and covered his chest with her mouth, kissing and licking and tasting. He relished every bit of it, arching and stretching underneath her hunger. Her hands explored his pecs, his shoulders, his neck, his sides, his waist, his arms, her eyes taking in every inch of him. The two of them paused there for a moment. Her sitting on top of him, hands on his waist, eyes hot; him exposed beneath her. Then, he sat up and embraced her, putting his mouth on hers. He removed her top in a smooth motion and then her bra. Taking her mouth again, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her naked chest to his, relishing the feel of her skin on his. He rolled her over this time. Kneeling over her, continuing to kiss her mouth, her chest, her breasts, he moved his hands down to her hips and began to remove her leggings. With her hands tangled in his hair, she tilted her hips up to facilitate the process. Then she was naked, and he was breathless, taking her in.

Growling in approval, he lay down beside her, kissing her mouth as he reached between her legs to find the wetness between them. She bent one knee and spread them to give him better access. As his finger slipped inside of her, she cried out. He responded to her cry by massaging her clitoris with his thumb and kissing her more deeply. She came in waves, clinging to him, and he drank in her cries, encouraging them with his mouth and his hands.


When her orgasm subsided, she looked up at him. He was grinning from ear to ear. Fuck, she was beautiful. He never wanted to take his hands off her. The sight of her climax was the most erotic thing he had ever seen and he very nearly came, himself, watching it. Then, oh thank sweet god, she reached down and undid his belt, then his fly. She fumbled to push his jeans down over his hips, but her arms weren’t long enough, so she brought up one foot, hooked her toes into his waistband and tried to push them down. He laughed and reluctantly removed his hand from her sex. He stood up, removed his pants and stood there for a moment. They were quite the picture. Him standing naked and erect above her. Her lying panting on the floor below him. He took in her toned, sweating body and she took in his. She beckoned to him to come down to her and he did not hesitate.

He returned to the floor and slid between her legs. With his hands on either side of her face, his mouth on her mouth, and her hands firm on his hips, he slid into her. The music was still on, but there was a pause in the tracks. He waited, enjoying the feel of simply being inside her. She did not encourage him further, but just lay still letting her body adjust to the feel of an unfamiliar shaft inside of her. His cock pulsed slightly, as if trying to fill in the silence with continued rhythm. She smiled into his eyes and he smiled back.

When the music began to play again, he found the rhythm with his hips. He rolled them forward and back with the downbeat, speeding up and slowing down as the rhythm demanded. He was as creative in his sexual movements as he was in his dancing, and she could follow as well underneath him as she did when he led her on the floor.


Again, they cycled through many styles and speeds, the dance turned to love-making. For some time he was on top of her, thrusting with the heaviness of the musical beats. When the music slowed, she flipped him over so that she could lead, sitting astride him, rocking her hips gently, massaging her clitoris against his body, driving him gently but deeply into her. When the music sped up again, he rolled her back over and took the lead once more. They made love lying down and sitting up. They watched themselves in the mirrors, laughing at their own pleasure, losing focus and having to start over again, but always finding their way easily back to the pleasure coursing through their bodies.

When they came, they did it in tandem, staying true to their dance. She was leading this time. The feel of her body stiffening underneath him and contracting around his shaft gave his body the cue it needed. He thrust deep inside of her and let everything go, pulsing, as she gripped him with her legs and her deep muscles. He came with fierce groans that matched her cries and, together, they rode the rhythms of their climax, peaking and then slowing in waves, both ending breathless and exhausted. A perfectly synchronized finale.


10 Seconds

Romance needs food. If a romance is not fed, its fire fades and fades until it finally burns out. I have learned this over time, and it has caused me much heartache and sadness. I have a lover who also knows this. Because of this hard-earned knowledge, we have developed a secret weapon of sorts. A match, some tinder to keep our passionate fire burning. It is our 10 seconds.

10 seconds.

Whenever we have been apart and we meet again, we have 10 seconds. Whenever we have been sleeping and we wake, we have 10 seconds. It is amazing what you can do with 10 seconds. The ways to fill that span of time are endless, and the possibilities fuel our creativity.

The one rule is: the 10 seconds are filled with him and me and touch. There is no outside world. There are no discussions. Just him. Just me. Just touching.

It started with kisses. We would meet at the end of the day and the first thing we would do would be to kiss. We would share a 10 second kiss. At first it was strange, even comical. It made us giggle. To stand and kiss for 10 seconds. We had to think about it. We had to think about relaxing into it. We had to count in our heads. It was hard. But, quickly, we discovered its magic. We stopped counting and just started kissing. The seconds passed more quickly. 10 seconds became 20. A simple kiss led to gentle sweet touches. A simple kiss of the lips turned into a deeper more probing kiss. Touches would often be followed by embraces. Then, the world was forgotten. Whatever was so important and had to be taken care of before anything else was quickly wiped away because, well, 10 seconds wasn’t that long. It was just enough time to forget. Forget everything except each other.

Fire was kindled. Fires began to build. Fires were sustained.

Now I find myself thinking about our 10 seconds. I find myself looking forward to our 10 seconds. I want what those 10 seconds will lead to. Now, I think of different ways to spend those 10 seconds. Now, I look forward to where those 10 seconds will go.

How many ways can you fill 10 seconds? A 10 second kiss, yes, but what else? A 10 second kiss with a hand on a bottom, kneading flesh, pulling a body closer. That is a difficult 10 seconds to walk away from. But the walking away is part of the fun. A 10 second kiss with a hand on a breast, kneading flesh, squeezing a nipple. That is a 10 seconds that begs for more. A 10 second kiss with fingers between legs, searching out hidden flesh and warm dark places. That is a 10 seconds that cries out to be released. And it is. Not immediately. But it is. That is the best part. 10 seconds turns into more. 10 seconds lasts all day. Not in reality, but in my mind. In his mind. In our minds. In our bodies. My body cannot forget the 10 seconds of contact. The 10 seconds of caresses. The 10 seconds of foreplay. My body quietly smolders all day.

Sometimes the 10 seconds happen in our home. Sometimes the 10 seconds are secret trysts, hidden behind doors in public places. That is the other rule. The 10 seconds happen every time we reunite. This makes us creative. Sometimes we can be passionate, sometimes we have to be reserved. Do we hide and express our passion, or do we pretend we are chaste and proper? It is a game that only we are party to. That is also part of the fun.

10 seconds. When we do come together, in the privacy of our own bed, the 10 seconds explode. Then we no longer have to think. We can simply be. We can be hands and mouths and bodies. We can be fire. The smolder quickly ignites and the release and relief are heaven.

10 seconds.


We hug all the time. We are friends. It is part of our daily interaction. We have never been lovers and we never will be. It is simply not an option between us, nor do I want it to be. We are only friends and will always be only friends. However…I will not deny to myself that you intrigue me. I will not deny that every time we touch there is a pleasurable connection. You feel good, and I like it. I like the way you feel. I look forward to our embraces. I enjoy the way your arms feel, firm around me, pulling me close to your body. I enjoy the sound of your breath as you exhale and deliver yourself to that embrace. I love that you do not immediately pull away. Your embraces are ones of true affection and you are generous with them.

And… in that moment when we hug, I get to enjoy a whole new set of encounters with you. My imagination runs. For a little while. Just for fun.

What would your body feel like in another context? What would your skin feel like? I have never felt it. What would your breath sound like in my ear? Not simply as a breath, but as an expression of passion? The thought is enticing and makes me smile. It is pleasing. To think of that.

Those parts of you are reserved for others, but my mind belongs to me and so, I can think about it.

I have never seen any part of you naked. You are always fully clothed in my presence. I know what your body feels like, pressed to mine, but what does it look like? In this moment, I can think about touching it.

I have felt your hands touch me, but not touch me. What would those hands feel like if they touched bare skin….bare skin that matters? Not my hands.

Your lips have never touched me. They have been close to me, but have never touched me. They are a delicious mystery. A fantasy.

How would your voice sound uttering different words? I fill in the blanks.

You are a person of passion. I am attracted to that. I see beauty and joy and adventure in that. You give your passion to others, as I do. But…that does not mean I cannot imagine…what you would feel like…were you to give it to me.







The shower was huge, more like a walk in closet than a space for bathing. It had tiles from floor to ceiling and a little ridge around the edge so that the water would collect just slightly on the floor, making a warm puddle. The water cascaded down from the ceiling like rain. It felt more like standing outside in a warm storm, rather than taking a shower.

He lay me down on the tiles of the floor and positioned himself over me, masking my face from the rain with his, one hand supporting his weight, the other caressing the side of my face. He looked, smiling, into my eyes.

One of his knees was between my thighs, high between them, keeping them apart, almost touching my sex, but not quite. As the water ran down the length of his thigh, it dripped tantalizingly on to the tip of my clitoris, a teasing drip, drip, drip, that was sweet torture. I moaned, closing my eyes and licking my lips.

He smiled quizzically.

“I’m not even touching you.”

“Look at your knee.”

He lifted one eyebrow and moved his gaze down.

“Oh.” He said, when he realized what he had inadvertently been doing.  “Hmmm.” He wondered out loud.

Then he bent down and, purposefully, covered my sex with his mouth. With a long, smooth, sensual suck, he drank all the moisture from my skin. I gasped with pleasure and arched up from the floor. He laughed, enjoy the effect of his actions.

I laughed too, then closed my eyes. His arms were wrapped around my hips, his hands on my stomach, his fingers holding on to me and drawing my body against his mouth. His lips were on me, licking and sucking, making a slow, sensuous feast of my sex.

His mouth was talented and purposeful; its movements executed in well-practiced patterns. He circled me with his tongue, exploring every fold of my sex. He covered me with firm, languorous licks. He penetrated me with his tongue, retreating from my body with slow, strong sucks of my clit. He flicked his tongue with skill, delivering quick, sharp jolts of pleasure to my body. He took his time and his own pleasure in doing it. He was attentive and calculating, bringing me just to the brink of orgasm, then slowing down, waiting for my peak to subside. Then he would begin again. The experience was breathtaking and slow, maddening and perfect.

As I yielded to his carnal ministrations, all my senses awoke and my body became receptive to the greater, all-encompassing physical situation enveloping me: The warmth of the water raining down over me. The constant drip, drip of the drops assaulting my skin. The slickness of the wet. The heaviness of my soaked hair around my face. The hard, slick of the tiles under my back. And the man between my thighs.


I stretched my arms above my head, lengthening my body, making more room for the waves of sensation to wash over me. And then…oh…he was ready for me to come. He was going to make this happen, now. He sucked harder, flicked more quickly, and with a smooth movement, brought his fingers to my sex and slid them into me. I gasped and curled upward, coiling my fingers into his hair. His mouth attended to that mass of nerves outside of me as his fingers massaged its opposite inside of me and I exploded in an all-encompassing climax that traveled over me, rippling up and down my body.

We hadn’t know each other very long, but there was a sweetness about our affection for one another that was intoxicating. A desire to touch one another gently. To kiss softly. To be close.

We had been laughing and joking, running around the house like children. I grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs to the dressing room. He sat down, smiling at me, catching his breath. I regarded him for a moment, made a decision, and then proceeded to strip off my clothes. He watched me attentively, his eyes sparkling with a mix of surprise, joy and uncertainty.

I went around the corner and turned on the water for the shower. The space was huge, more the size of a walk in closet than a shower. It was open, with no door, and the water came down from the ceiling like rain, without a specific shower head. It was fantastic.

I walked into the misty cascade, the water slowly soaking my hair and covering my skin, beginning to pool at my feet. After a moment, he came around the corner, still dressed. I turned to him and stood still, letting him look at me and make his own decision.

He took off his clothes and hung them on the hooks on the wall. Then, he joined me under the water.

The air between us was still. Calm. But inside of me, there was a churning. His growing erection and his eyes told me that he must be feeling the same way, and that we were both committed the outcome of this sweet game.

In the rainy wet of the shower, he came to me and took me gently at the waist, bending down to kiss me. Our mouths, wet and warm, came together beautifully. Our lips pressed together, then opened gently as our tongues began exploring one another’s mouths.

We were not embracing. Our mouths were touching. His hands rested gently on my waist. Mine were on his arms. The only other contact between us was the push of his erection against my stomach. The lack of contact was maddening, totally hot. All of a sudden my body was on fire. I did not want to go through any preamble or foreplay, I wanted to feel this man inside me and I told him so.

“Put yourself inside me. I want you inside me.”

He paused, looking at me for a moment, and then obliged. Putting his arms around me, he lifted me to the built-in shelf at the side of the shower. It was the perfect height as he sat me upon it.

“Don’t thrust. Just be inside me. Fill me up and stay there. Let me feel you inside me. Let yourself feel me around you.”

With a lift of his eyebrow, he did as I asked. Holding onto my hips and watching my face carefully, he slowly pushed inside of me until his full length was sheathed within my body.

“Ahhh.” We both sighed.  It was amazing. “Don’t move.” I said. “Just feel this.”

It was exquisite. We had never shared more than a kiss and a chaste caress before and now, here we were, naked, soaked and bodily connected. Intimate lovers.

My hands were on his arms and my legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. The urge to move was almost overpowering. I could see it in him and he could see it in me. Our eyes were locked together, both of us breathing more heavily now.  “Just stay still. Just a moment longer.” He nodded.

Then, it began. As we looked at one another, the look on his face shifted to one of pure carnal pleasure and he sucked in his breath. He closed his eyes for a long moment and I could see the muscles in his torso contract as he began to moan. Opening his eyes again, his hands tightened on my hips. He was pushing himself as hard against me as possible as his body stiffened and he fought to remain still. Watching the climax overtake his body, my own body reacted and I felt my own orgasm began to build. I locked my eyes on his, reveling in this turn of events as my breath shortened and my body lit up. Then, I felt him begin to pulse inside of me and, as he came into me, my body exploded around him, my deep muscles squeezing and massaging. My own cries joined his as we both came hard. I arched backwards in my ecstasy, barely containing my own urge to move as the waves of pleasure rolled over me.

Then, his arms were around me, pulling my body to his. His mouth was on mine, his tongue thrusting in the way his cock had not. The kiss was beautiful, passionate and full of the sweetness, gratitude and relief of new physical love.

As our mouths parted, the smile on his face was pure joy. My own smile met his and I began to giggle. He lifted me up, disconnecting from me with a moan. Then, with eyes still hungry and a body still stiffly awake, he lay me down on the wet floor under the warm, raining, water and began to explore the body he had just experienced.

It is late. Really late. I want to go to him. He is not far away, just in the next room.

I hesitate for a moment. He certainly won’t reject me, but will he be what I want him to be, tonight? Will he understand my need?

I need to feel controlled. Not in a negative, domineering way. I feel out of control and I need someone outside of me, him, to curb that feeling.

I want to go to him, but I want him to lead the way. I want to crawl into the bed next to him, slide in under the covers and leave the rest up to him. I want to submit to him. I want him to make me feel as though I have no responsibilities. I want his body to think for both of us.

I want him, in that haze of sleep, to follow his most basic instincts. I want him to roll over, reach out his arm and pull me toward him. No talking, just bodies. I want his hand to find its way from my waist down to my ass. I want him to pull my hips toward his. I want to feel his kiss and I want to feel his hands explore my skin, finding their way to wakefulness and arousal. I want to feel his erection grow against my belly and I want him to follow its lead. I have brought my body to give to him. I want him to take it. I want him to roll on top of me and nestle in between my legs. I want him to kiss my mouth and neck and breasts. I want him to run his hands down my body. I want to feel his hands. I want my skin to be caressed by his strong, purposeful hands. I want to feel his fingers running over my thighs, then between my legs and up to my waiting cleft. I want to feel them tantalize me and make me ready. I want to feel them penetrate my body as his tongue penetrates my mouth. I want to feel my body arch against him as his pushes down onto mine. I want to feel his body. I want to feel how much larger and stronger than me he is. I want him to be in control. I want to feel the tip of his cock press against my slick opening. I want to feel his thickness, his warmth and his stiffness as he slides into me. I want him to fill me. I want to feel his muscles work as he thrusts into me. I want to wrap my legs and arms around him as he takes pleasure in me and I want to ride that submission into my own ecstasy.

I want to go to him.

Sometimes, the touch of a lover’s body is sweet enough.

He brought me to orgasm, using his hand and his mouth, and it was blissful. Now, my body is relaxed and languid. My muscles have eased and are warm and pliant.

It is his turn.

I lie on my back. My sex is wet. Lovely and slick.

My body has sunk deep into the blanket. My legs are open. He comes over me. His hands are gentle and purposeful and loving. His mouth is warm and wet. His kisses tell me how pleased he is with himself.

He should be.

I am.

He kisses my breasts. My neck. My mouth.

His body is comfortably heavy on mine. Our skins feel wonderful together.

He settles between my legs and reaches down for one more feel, smiling at his work before he guides his cock inside me.

It is his turn.

I wrap my arms and legs around him as he begins to move. His breathing intensifies and he kisses my mouth, taking my breath as well. I curl my fingers into his hair and hold his head, kissing him back, exploring his mouth with my tongue in the way I know he loves.

He moves. His hips rock up and down. Back and forth.

He is taking his pleasure of my body, and my body finds pleasure in that.

The sounds of his intensified breathing and his slight moans make my body respond, wanting to envelop him even more fully.  I bury my face in his neck, kissing the skin there, and let my hands explore his arms and back and buttocks….wherever they can reach. His mouth is next to my ear and I can hear all of his pleasure as clearly as I can feel it.

He groans but he takes his time, slowing down to make it last longer. He pulls almost all the way out of me and pauses, breathing purposefully, controlling his body. Then, he pushes in to me again. Long, slow, thrusts. In. Out. Smooth. Steady. Stimulating. So stimulating! My hips respond, rolling up and down to meet his thrusts. The sensations of skin on skin and sweat-slick friction cover me.

It is his turn, and it feels wonderful.

His body stiffens and his movements increase in speed as he finds his way, building towards climax. He takes his weight onto his arms and lifts up his chest. Shorter, harder strokes now. He grunts with his own effort and his face makes that expression that is so him. I can read his pleasure. I can see exactly what he is feeling and I love it. Holding my hips up at that perfect angle for his entry, I finish his strokes with firm pushes of my own.

This is right. This is good. Our bodies know each other. It is his turn and I am happy for him to have it.

He cries out as he reaches orgasm and I can feel him pulsing, deep and hard, spilling his pleasure inside me.

Then, those last few shuddering strokes, those last few groans as his pleasure subsides and his body releases the tension of his orgasm.

He breathes out and settles onto me, kissing my neck. I stroke his arm. His weight on me is heavy and perfect.

Have you ever met someone whom you just could not resist? He was like that for me. I was like that for him. We couldn’t help it. It was a simple matter of chemistry. Him + Me + same space = sex. It was like that from the day we met.

My best friend warned me. He said, “You can’t meet Irving.” I asked, “Why?” “Because you will have sex with him.” “What?! You are just jealous.” “No. I know you and I know him. You, two, will have sex.”

Was I that promiscuous? Was I that desperate? Was he that hot? Nope. Chemistry.

He was not striking. Neither was I. Nice looking, but not remarkable. Not hot. I liked him. He liked me. But that wasn’t the particular attraction. He was fun, considerate, even romantic sometimes, but that didn’t make much of a difference, either. We simply had to touch each other. We had to mate. Ha! That makes it sounds so primitive. So animalistic. But, it was. It was instinctual, unexplainable. It was like something out of a fantasy graphic novel.

We had never laid eyes on each other. It wasn’t even a set up. We were living in the same town and I walked into the right room. It was like a lodestone was turned on. I could feel him there, this presence that I had no choice but to move towards. I looked around, searching for the source, and we saw each other. I think he was as surprised as I was.

“Hi.” “Hi.”

“You are Rusty’s friend.” “Yes.”

“small talk….chit, chat, chit, chat….”

None of it mattered. It was crazy. Neither of us was particularly horny. Neither of us was trying to score. There was just no question of where this was going. We were having sex.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” “Yes.”

It was springtime and warm. There was a park nearby. It was big and open and empty. I used to go down there to just sit and enjoy the evening. It was a peaceful place to go. There was a natural staircase that led to the water’s edge where a grandfather Oak stood. The trees and undergrowth there gave some semblance of privacy. We walked down. On the way, we instinctively grasped hands. My God! The minute we touched, we both knew there was no stopping things.

In one smooth motion he put his hand on my waist and I turned to put my back against the tree. He leaned forward against me. As our bodies touched, our hands parted and began to explore. Mine were behind his head, in his hair, drawing his face in to me for a kiss that melted us into one. His were both on my waist, then one behind my back, one on my ass, pulling me toward him, pressing himself against me.

There was no groping urgency. It was strangely calm. Our bodies were going to be one. There was no question, so there was no hurry, But, hell…why wait.

His kisses were firm and strong. Experienced and clear in their intent. Mine responded in kind. As I kissed him, I lifted myself towards him, pushing my breasts against his chest, pushing my waist against his stomach, pushing my hips against his hips. As his hips responded, I could feel his erection growing through the fabric of our clothes.

As he kissed my neck, I breathed in the scent of his hair. No cologne. Just the fresh scent of this man. His natural scent set my body on fire. If ever there was proof of pheromones, we were it. Every nerve in my body came to life and I gasped with the jolt. I heard him breathe in as well. Then he moaned and, as he took in my scent, pushed against me even more.

I looked up at the sky and saw the full moon above us. Apropos. It made me giggle. “What?” “It’s a full moon.” I felt him smile into my neck, then bite me playfully. I returned the favor, pulling his shirt up out of his jeans and scoring his back with my fingernails. He drew in his breath and hissed with pleasure.

Then, his hands were on my hips, reaching down for the hem of my dress, pulling it up over my thighs. I began to breathe harder. Now this was getting real. His fingers found their way between my legs and into my panties. He didn’t try and pull them down, just moved them aside, sliding his fingers straight into the warmth and wet, there. I angled my hips to give him better access.

I leaned back from him slightly, breaking our kiss, and reached for the waist of his jeans, working his fly open. Our heads remained close together, both of us smiling through our heavy breathing. I reached into his pants and put my hand around his cock. The feel of the smooth skin of his penis was wonderful. I massaged it with rippling squeezes as I brought it out, pushing his pants down just enough to set it free. He sighed under the motion of my hand, rocking towards me. He pushed his fingers deeper inside me while kissing me deeply once more before withdrawing his hand.

Then, he grabbed my thigh, lifted my leg up and bent his knees. I put my arms around his neck as he positioned himself between my thighs, and in one smooth motion, angled his cock up and inside of me. The natural weight of my body brought me down around him, burying his sex fully within mine. We were as close as we could be and it was amazing.

We stood there for a few moments, feeling the absolute perfect bliss of our union. Nothing had ever felt more right. More satisfying. Then he began to move. His hands were firmly on my thighs, holding me up, taking my weight, freeing his hips to thrust forward and back. Up and in. My leg was wrapped around his waist, pulling my pelvis closer to his, matching his movements as best I could, considering my upright position. But it was enough. The upright angles of our movements applied just the right amount of friction to my clit, massaging it with his skin, tickling it with his pubic hair. We had given up kissing. This was about our bodies. He looked at me with amusement and joy, and I smiled as well, letting out a delicious laugh at the sheer carnality of our actions, and then I gasped.

A burning began to grown in my loins, fueled with every thrust of his cock. His posture changed, too, and I knew he felt the same thing. We leaned in closer to one another, using each other for support as the waves of sexual pleasure began to wash over our bodies. The tingling sensation grew and spread to every nerve in my body. I sighed as he thrust into me and moaned as he withdrew, each movement eliciting a different and perfectly erotic sensation. He moaned too, matching my cries until at last, rippling orgasms overtook both of us. He stiffened against me, thick and thrust inside me up to the hilt, pulsing. I pushed against him, feeling the muscles inside of my body squeezing and massaging his cock with a strength I didn’t realize they had.

We stood there for a long time, not moving. Panting softly. Breathing and returning to our senses. He sagged into me, pushing me up against the tree. My feet touched the ground and I locked my arms around him so that we would not fall.

Softly. We found our voices. “Thank you.” “My pleasure.” “Will I see you again?” “I think so.”



Here is a fantasy. Put yourself into it. Become the subject, the “I”. See if you like it:


My sex. In the open and open. The sky is warm. The air is warm. There is just a hint of a breeze.

A hand. Two fingers. One on each side of my lips. They press down firmly and squeeze gently. Just enough that my lips plump up and flush slightly. I pulse. Moisture comes.

Another finger. This ones dips just slightly into the warm fluid appearing at the opening to my body. A lovely lubricant. Wet, now, the finger gently spreads the moisture over my plump lips, sliding deliciously, teasing sensations to life. My clitoris responds, hardening under the slick touch.

Then, a tongue. Teasing. Flicking gently. Tasting.

A mouth. Two different sorts of lips join the fun. They cover my clitoris with their warmth and suck. Gently at first, then more purposefully. My sex erupts in a wave of tingling sensations. The circumference of my sexual entrance awakens and pulses.

Noticing, the tongue accepts the invitation and slides inside me. Discovering the depths within. My buttocks tighten and my hips move to get more of that lovely feeling. The tongue inside me. Moving soft and warm and slick and pliable. Those lips, continuing to suck.

The sensations build.

Then, the fingers reappear. The tongue has work to do on the outside. Tasting, licking, flicking, tickling, caressing. They take its place inside of me. First one, then two. Moving in and out. Pressing against my contracting muscles. Searching for that knot of nerves that brings so much pleasure.

The combination of sensations converge to bring me to beautiful orgasm and release. The waves of pleasure wash over me and I breathe.

My own hand, then, moves to that warm place between my legs where the pulsing is subsiding, and I smile. Satiated.

It is warm and sunny. I am lying in the open, my body naked under the lovely warmth. The world around me is open and my most intimate parts are too. My legs are comfortably spread and my sex is exposed to everything. I can feel the hint of a breeze touch my skin. My nipples contract and my skin comes alive. The sensation travels down my body, waking my senses.

My sex responds to the tickling sensation of the wind in my pubic hair. It is freeing to be lying here like this, naked under the naked sky. Natural and open as nature made me. I can hear the sounds of the world around me. Not human sounds, natural sounds. The trees, the grass, the leaves, the birds. Simple, easy sounds. Relaxing sounds.

I concentrate of the feel of my skin. It takes a moment for me to relax into the situation. I am naked. There are no walls around me. My sex responds to the thought. A pulse. A warming. A moistening. My skin prickles and I have to move, readjusting myself. I lick my lips. I draw my knees up a little more and reach down to open the folds of my sex. I like the feel of the open air. Just there. On that skin that it rarely touches. I run my hand over those sweet-feeling places. Just enough to remember how alive they are and how much they like attention of many kinds.

I let my knees fall all the way open and stretch my arms above my head, arching my back and stretching my skin, eyes closed, loving the feel of my naked body. My hands go to my breasts, caressing them, lifting them, fondling them. I play with my nipples, running them through the spaces in between my fingers. Rubbing them gently against the palms of my hands. They respond and the response makes me smile.

I slowly roll over and let the sky caress the back of my body. I shake my head, enjoying the feel of my hair against my naked skin, warm from the sunlight, moved every now and then by the air. I lie heavily upon the ground, letting my warm skin soak up the cool of the earth underneath me. It is a new and awakening experience. The tickle of the grass on my breasts. The cool ground kissing my nipples, my belly, my thighs. As I let the sun warm my back, I lift up my hips, enjoying the feel of the sun on my buttocks and the backs of my thighs, feeling the air kiss their skin, too.

As I do, I can feel that air on my sex again. This time it is different, as my legs are pressed together. The folds of my sex are squeezed sweetly, pressing out from underneath my buttocks and between my legs, like a pair of lips looking for a kiss. The hint of wind obliges.

Feeling my body respond more strongly to the wind’s kiss, and not wanting to waste such affection, I reach down and begin my own caress.