Blogopera #3/Hunger
He pulled back.
“Good, now that that’s over, I don’t have to spend the rest of the night wondering when I get to kiss you.”

I am not an impulsive person. Rarely do I not deliberate on even minor decisions and details but months of celibacy and weeks of playful banter and innuendo had primed me for this. I looked at him and I felt hungry. Hungry for the warmth generated by two bodies connected, breathing each others breath, sharing the heat of naked skin. Hungry for the unearthing of something new and unfolding, like Columbus of the flesh, mapping out each discovery, savoring the smells of an exotic land. The task of learning a new body, where to trace your fingers to raise bumps across the skin, how the muscles and sinew moved under the flesh, and where a person is soft and vulnerable.

I reached out and took his hand, turned and walked him to my bedroom. He sat down on the edge of my bed and looked at me earnestly as I stood in front of him. I moved to stand in the space between his legs. I put my hands on either side of his face and kissed him, softly, my movements now slow and deliberate. Knowing it would never be this new again, at least not with him.

He smelled like coffee. He pulled me onto his lap, leaned back and stretched across my bed until I rested atop him. He pushed his shoes off with his feet and his hands reached under my shirt and slid across the bare skin of my back. His lips grazed over my neck, his soft hair brushing the side of my face. He rolled me over and lay above me, supporting his own weight. As he unbuttoned my shirt his fingers traced a line down my clavicle between my breasts and down my stomach, never taking his eyes from mine.

He sat up and pushed the open shirt off my arms. He sat astride me and sunk his face into the space between my shoulders, gently tugging on my skin with his lips and teeth, tracing lines with his tongue. Working his hands down my sides, he slid my pants past my hips and off. And then I was naked, vulnerable.

I stretched across the bed like a cat, trying to belie the fact that I was self-conscious, exposed.
He sat back, his eyes moving over my body.

“This,” he paused, “this is what a woman is supposed to look like.”
“You’re stunning,” he said as his hand tenderly traced the curves of my side.
“You’re like a violin’” he smiled, “except pliable.”
“Better than I imagined.” he added.
“You’ve imagined me like this?”
“Many times, many times.”

His words an approval, I relaxed in my skin. There is nothing like emphatic adoration to make a woman feel sensuous and nymph-like.

“My turn,” I said, edging myself off the bed.

I stood in front of him and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Level with him, I pressed my naked chest into his, wrapped my arms around him and explored his neck with my mouth. I leaned back to look at him and ran my fingertips gently down his chest to the waist of his pants.

“Stand,” I commanded.
“You, are bossy,” he smiled and stood before me.
“You don’t know the half of it.”

I unbuttoned his pants and pushed a bit exposing just the beginnings of his pelvis. There, just below his navel was a moon shaped scar that extended about two inches, long since healed it was lighter and smoother than the rest of his skin. I knelt before him, my bare knees on the hard wooden floor. I brushed my lips over the scar and kissed it softly. I looked up at him and he reached for me, pushing my hair out of my face.

He pulled me up as he stood and I pushed his pants the rest of the way down and he stepped out of them. I lay down on my side and he came to rest beside me. I used my hands to familiarize myself with the rest of him, the curve of his spine, the hardness of his back breaking into the soft flesh of his buttocks. He was still for awhile, just letting me touch him, watching me with curiosity and gratitude. I kissed him more and he kissed me back, softly and then more intently. I took his hand and guided it to me, pressing into the soft flesh of my sex as I whispered to him, “I want you inside me.”

He moved on top of me and pushed my legs apart with his own and pressed himself against me. Bliss, that moment just before, when you know something is inevitable but has yet to begin. Remember this, I thought to myself, remember how this feels. He entered me and my body gave without resistance. He let out a deep exhalation and moved against me with an unhurried rhythm. I wrapped my legs around him loosely.

We watched each other for a long time, following the sighs and soft murmurs where they took us, like commands of pleasure. He ran his fingers over my cheeks, past my lips and down my neck as he kept pushing into me, hastening the momentum between us. I could feel it starting, the beginning of a wave, feeling every muscle on alert, at attention, until relief came over me, the pleasure so intense I cried out and used my legs to hold him deep inside of me. He looked at me satisfied and increased his rhythm, pushing into me more forcefully as his breathing sped up. I watched his face change from serene to almost pained, it was unnerving the rawness of his expression. The frantic pace of his thrust aroused me and I moved my hips with his, meeting his movements with my own. I climaxed again, more vocal as the last of my inhibitions fell away. One quiet moan escaped his lips as he pushed as far inside me as our bodies would allow. I could feel small pulses of movement and then he relaxed.

He rolled over and pulled me to him, my head resting against his chest, his arm around me, my leg slung over his.

.....until next time