Incandescence

I paused silently and smoothed the lavender drapes of my dress. Anticipation clouded my senses, but luckily we'd discussed this moment for over a year. I was just to show up. In this elegant hotel, I would finally meet my intangible lover. I'd envisioned thousands of endings, but there was only one way to find out. I opened the door, slowly, hand shaking.

I stepped into the room, dark as planned. Instinctively, my hand rose to a light and you caught it. I flinched. You were beside me; I was expecting an advancing silhouette. But your contact was strong, as I knew it would be.

Following your graceful lead, I stepped into your embrace. It was formal and polished. Like those ballroom competitions I secretly love on T.V. I delighted in the pressure of your hand at my hip.

When you said my name, "Laura," slow and sultry, as erotica itself, I clung to you, a disintegration of our choreographed pose. I pressed every inch of my body into your confident frame. I looked up, oh so curious. I loved looking up, but in the darkness, no clues were revealed. I didn't care.

"Tony" I choked slightly, unable to trust my vocal cords, much less my quivering knees and accelerating pulse. My tears began to fall. I was finally in your arms: finally held by the man who knew all my serious goals, petty disappointments, and lusty ambitions.

"Baby, don't cry," you said. Your grasp never faltered. I felt the sweetest kiss ever, planted at my hairline. An air of calm settled. I chastised myself for the immediate drama, and suppressed my desire to plead, "Don't ever let me go."

But my lips could not be restrained. After one sloppy miscalculation, I found your mouth, eager and honest. Anxiously, I kissed, and my body screamed for everything at once. I wanted you bad, in all the worst ways: your tongue in my mouth, your grip on my flesh, and your cock in my cunt. Good God, you had driven me from sentimental to vulgar in just thirty seconds.

But your kiss steadied mine; oh, your control. Again I was overwhelmed by your reaction, like a diligent father grasping the wrist of a wide-eyed child in the midst of hurling her awkward body across a busy street. My insecurity censured again. No father analogies. Our age difference was just one of the realities hopefully obscured by the darkness.

It was a silly plan, this meeting in the dark. It was born of anxiety that we might not be visually attracted, but I was unsurprised by my arousal. Our intense contact was merely a confirmation of everything we had already shared.

"Come here, Cyber-lover," was your light-hearted invitation, and yet I heard a wrinkle in your voice. I was silently pleased to know this was affecting you as well. We stuttered toward the bed, blind and determined to remain entangled. I could feel your smile. I extracted an arm, wiped under my eye. As we toppled together your warm hand brushed back my hair and returned to my neck. Like water melts sugar, I felt my skin dissolved at your touch.

"I can't believe it's you," I gasped.

"It's me," you said, punctuated with both a kiss and a waking pinch.

"Say something else," I demanded. "I want to hear your voice."

You laughed, and I blushed warm inside. I wanted nothing more than to make you happy. Throughout months of email we'd unnecessarily deprived ourselves of even one call, not a single real-time chat, or even an attached photo (although I both begged and teased on that one.)

"Why did we wait so long?" You articulated my thoughts.

"So, it would be this good," I said and snuggled closer into you, if that was at all possible.

"Relax," you instructed, gently placing my arms at my side. "I want to explore you."

My frustrated whimper protested, but if I had ever trusted someone, it was you. Your tiny inquisitive kisses canvassed my face, delicately avoiding my parted lips. I felt every nerve on alert as your feather-light touch traced across my collar-bone, shoulders, and arms.

Contact to my palms was too much. I giggled and grabbed you. "Didn't I ever tell you how sensitive I am right there?" I massaged your shoulders with open hands. "Right here," and I directed your fingers to my palm, then wiggled, enraptured. "And the bottoms of my feet, too. It's the silliest thing." You flicked the tip of your tongue across the newly discovered spot. "Ooooo," I had to pull away, yet loved every lick.

"I want to know all your little spots," you replied and returned to the tactile investigation. But I couldn't lay still, not with your hot breath at my chest and gentle hands outlining my curves. Even though my skin was obscured through layers of clothing, I was frantic. I grabbed your biceps and squeezed. Urgency was eating me up inside.

"You're driving me crazy," I pleaded. My entire body tingled and ached. That particular lower region raged with a need to be filled.

But you caught me mid-cry. "We have all the time in the world. Just enjoy."

I tried to ignore the nagging reality that our time together was far from infinite. Your marriage, however unconventional, placed a premium on every second of this orchestrated rendezvous. And yet, I knew I must put those thoughts aside if I wanted to experience its ultimate potential.

I tittered to myself. Enjoyment was certainly not going to be a chore. I felt my seductress side emerging.

"Oh, you think it's so easy?" I retaliated in response to your insistence on passivity. "You ought to try it." With a burst of boldness, I pushed you back and straddled your thighs. "Just relax," I said, mocking, as I licked a trail to your neck. "Lay still, don't you move." I nibbled your earlobe, inhaling your scent and caressing your cheek with my own.

I felt your fingers playfully brush my dress up above my knees. Oh, God, I trembled, yearning so badly to grind my crotch into yours. I needed to confirm my suspicion of mutual need. And yet I wanted to inflict on you equivalently delicious torture. "Nope." I swatted your hands. "Not yet. Be still or I'll be forced to take more drastic measures." This was so fun.

I allowed you a little responsiveness to a mouth-to-mouth kiss but then pulled away righteously, my cheeks straining from my smile. I left a peck on your nose, between your brows, and then brought my hands to your hair. I tousled and inhaled, adding sensory details to your previous description of blond, slightly gray. Relishing your breath at my bust, satisfying knowledge that you were smothered in cleavage was perhaps a priority motivation.

"Are you pleased with your investigations so far?" You asked as I sat up to clear my head.

"Emphatically," I replied, overjoyed with my ability to answer honestly. "Am I what you expected?"

"Even better," you said. My heart ricocheted. I made no protest as you took hold of both my breasts firmly. I pressed into you. Sharp thrilling pain flashed from my sensitively engorged nipples pinched in the crease between your fingers. "You are beautiful, Laura."

Oh, the sweet sincerity in your voice! I was liquefied. What better way to know your body than to mold around it. I slid my legs down the outside of yours. Yes, tall and fit as you described. But the warmth and the dynamic humanity of your hard thighs was not something easily translated into words.

My God, there you were. Through several layers I felt the perfect outline of your rock-solid cock. Vaginal muscles quivered and my hot little pussy gasped for your girth. "Ohhh," sounded my exasperated sigh as I gripped you with my horse-riding thighs.

"Ummmm," your response. Our previously literary relationship had degenerated into syllables. Then our mouths mashed violently, eliminating even that potential for primitive communication. But, I had no doubt to your intentions. Your hips led me to roll over. The splendid pleasure of your weight was a direct result of forces more significant than gravity.

Like mortar and pestle, our bodies stressed clothing. We ground together with a furious adult priority, too greedy to waste time stripping. Separation at that moment was not an option. Eons of electronic frustration demanded liberation with their first opportunity for genuine fulfillment.

In addition to the dramatic friction, I loved your hands on at my jaw. I savored your tongue's penetration, compensating for elsewhere-restricted desire. Your possessive lips throbbed. Obviously, the regular blood donations had resulted in excellent marrow. I wiggled my hands between us, at your hips, knowing how that particular congregation of additional blood cells must be straining you.

I sensed your hesitation at our rapid acceleration. You had written volumes to the tune of "it's the trip and not the destination that matters."

"There's always round two, love," I reminded. "And three and four." My upcoming vacant schedule perversely flashed through my mind. We had joked of a "one week stand" in the case that events manifested favorably. That was beyond doubt now, but I lacked mental capacity for much future consideration.

My consciousness was dominated by your immediate proximity. As I shoved slacks over your hips, a tiny "aaah," escaped from my lips. Although rushing, I noted every contour of your body. Touch could in no way compensate for the room's lack of light. However, I had the distinct suspicion that an addition of sight might result in some previously unknown explosion from sensory overload.

The sexy lace panties I had painstakingly chosen while imagining extended foreplay now pinched in excessive inconvenience. Thank god for thigh high stockings. I giggled as my toes slid out of my shoes and weaseled over to your already bare feet. You, too, had shunned extraneous apparel. Mr. Patience was caught in vulnerable anticipation.

"We'll do it slow next time," you whispered. Respective undergarments were peeled down, but shirt buttons, dress zippers, and bra clasps remained ignorable.

"Oh my god, oh god . . . yes." I felt the presence of your hardness at my groomed pubic hair. No persistence necessary, you slid between my anxiously slick folds in a single deliberate move. We paused and kissed passionately, delighting in the snug compatibility. Was it a coincidence that soul mates would also fit so puzzle-piece perfect? "You're a dream come true," I managed to utter while suppressing another onset of tears.

"I love you," you said. No disclaimers or promises. No words had ever been more appropriate.

"I love you, too." I felt your first glorious stroke. Exquisite. Euphoria. I gripped and thrust back. Again you held my immature exuberance in check. We settled into a strong, steady cadence. "You feel incredible." I said, pleased with the slow pace's opportunity for expression.

Your sustained assault continued. Luxurious. Consuming. I sensed a slight acceleration. I had an uncontrollable visualization of an exponential curve and imagined our ascent to tumultuous climax. I grinned with the knowledge that you accepted, and even appreciated, the bookish side of me. Although it sounds impossible, I relaxed beneath your exceptional motions. Crumpled clothing was awkward but I had no will to adjust.

"How can something transcend infinite expectation?" You asked.

I was in awe as the eloquent sentiment rolled off your tongue. We'd discussed fears of real life insecurity. We, as authors, appreciated the reflection and editing opportunity emails allowed us. Only quasi-jokingly, we had recounted efforts to perfect each piece of our correspondence. And despite admonishments of casual expectations, each message we exchanged held an air of craftsmanship. I kept every piece archived in expansive cut-and-paste files as if someone, some day might appreciate the efforts we mutually employed.

And yet here we were, naturally enacting a scenario that I couldn't have written any more ideally had I tried.

You caught my eye. "I know what you mean." Another kiss. "Some things just aren't rational," was my only explanation. I felt a halting sensation and a shift in your concentration. I understood; you had something to prove. "I want you to cum." I said honestly.

You sighed, one step closer, "I promise. . ."

I cut you off. "I know."

Inhibitions were shed; our bodies cavorted in wild abandon. Your unrestrained rhythm sent waves through my thighs. I reciprocated instinctively, reveling in warm spasms and surmounting bliss.

"Ughhh," sounded your ultimate groan. I brought my fingers to the tense creases in your face, now comfortable in, but still restricted by darkness. I swore to memorize your orgasm expression. By the end of our tryst, I wanted I to be able to recall it forever.

I rewrapped you in my arms and added a substantial increase to both my external and internal embraces. For the first time, I kneaded your lips in a commanding kiss as you recovered physically.

"Good?" I questioned coyly.

"You. . ." the adoration radiating from your breathing and voice affirmed my rhetorical tease. You responded with appreciative kisses and caresses. "Lets get rid of these now," you said and commenced our neglected task of undressing.

I sat up. You kissed down my back as you unzipped and unsnapped. Exaggerated shivers whipped through my body. I knew my nipples would be hard as you reached forward, pushing fabric aside to clutch my bare breasts. You brushed my long hair from your lips as I quickly wriggled out of dress and bra.

"I'll get those in a sec," you stopped me from removing my hose, the final barrier to complete nudity and pulled me back by my waist. Your moist mouth on my shoulders and your massaging hold on my tits reactivated the demands of my libido. Unfortunately, I felt no more prepared to handle slow subtle caresses, despite the preceding get-it-out-of-our-system fuck.

Spooned up against you, I tickled your shins with my toes. I wanted all our appendages mingled together. Inhaling powerfully, I reinforced your hands with my own. "I've got it under control," you said when I craned my neck around to return your kisses.

And you definitely did, have control over me. I barely felt self-conscious as your hand traipsed over my belly. Maybe the darkness wasn't such a silly plan after all. I shuddered as your hand enveloped the swell of my inner thigh. My hips tilted and ass clenched in anticipation. A single cool finger swiped through my sticky labia and I bucked in frustration as you withdrew. I grabbed for your hand.

"Patience, girl." You peeled open my grasp and sucked my index finger.

"Uuh. . . uuh" I was on the verge of a tantrum. But just then, you found my clit and gave it a satisfying jiggle. Despite our love-making's rich appetizer, my body was hungry for the next course. Your hands were most attentive as I oooed and awed at the array of various pleasures presented. Two fingers plunged into my insatiable hole and you massaged our delectable dressing, a well-agitated oil and vinegar, into the thick walls of my sex. "Mmmm. . . I want you again." I tugged up on your shoulders.

"No, no, no," you said in a playful yet soothing tone.

I leaned forward and licked upward from your chin over your lips. "I'll help you get hard," I whispered suggestively.

You laughed. "Not a problem. But this is about you." You kissed me tenderly, and I acquiesced. I took a deep breath to calm my increasing heart rate. I knew what was next. I began to tense up. "Remember all I've said." You reminded, and I understood.

We'd written extensively about my oral sex anxiety. You'd argued persuasively that many men, yourself especially, enjoyed performing the act. Intellectually, I believed you, but my insecurities remained. I was uneasy with the undivided attention and nervous about responding appropriately. Previous lovers had been quick to pass when I expressed any resistance. This only reinforced my critical assumptions. However, I knew better than to argue with your intentions. I felt you scoot backward on the bed.

"Tony?" I said and you paused.

"Yes."

I swallowed. "Thank you." I knew that sounded weird. "For tonight."

You chuckled, but not insensitively, and gave me a reassuring kiss. "I want to do this."

"I know." Do not cry, I commanded myself. "But, thanks. . . for just being you."

"Of course." You knew me so well. "Now relax and enjoy."

You started at my feet and ran both hands up the inside of my legs and over sheer hose. You kissed the strip of flesh above my thigh highs and took a playful tug at a top with your teeth. Sliding down each stocking, your lips followed with light suction as each inch of skin was revealed. It felt magnificent.

My heart was quivering. Your chin brushed over my dark curls and I pulled back as if touched by a flame. Penetrating heat boiled my blood, a fire fed by your breath at my pussy. But I was nervous; I hoped I smelled okay. I wanted you to love my body. Your familiar fingers parted my lips like thick curtains. Miss Clit, the little Prima Donna, took center stage. I hope I taste okay, I worried at your tongue began subtle overtures.

I fought a tickle-like reflex to retreat. Powerful sensations shot up through my torso. You definitely knew what to do: teasing flicks of your tongue, lavish strokes on my baby-smooth skin, and, OH MY GOD, precise tugs on my swollen clit. I grabbed little tuffs of your hair and cradled your head with my hands. I felt your tongue probe confidently. Never had I felt so exposed.

I was almost convinced of your words. The expressive skill and your unfettered enthusiasm could only come from pure enjoyment. No sense of obligation could possibly feel this good.

Tiny spasms triggered sharp gasps. I hoped I wouldn't bump you as my pelvis thrust with a mind of its own. Your mouth and hands worked together now. I put aside my last irrational fears, and was conscious, for a moment, of how special that was. No one had ever done this for me. Don't ever stop, I thought to myself and repeated out loud. "Oh, that feels good. Yes, Tony, yes." I thought your name in a chant. Possessive, MY Tony. Well, all mine right now; I would cherish the moment.

You tightened your lips; blood rushed to that spot. Or did it rush out? I felt power, motion, life-changing joy. Every limb doused in heat, evaporating waves started below the waist but rose through to my heart. How long would you go? A selfish/subconscious thought, but I couldn't get enough. Did you realize how self-indulgent I felt or the supreme rarity of my guiltless comfort in accepting such love? Over and over again, you took me to new highs. No matter what happens in the future, I thought, I would never be the same. I would demand this kind of attention from all future lovers. You spoiled me. I was hooked.

Then I felt an excellent pain from tiny nibbles on my clit. Squeals welled up inside. I needed to cum and knew I was close, but I still wanted more. Empty, empty, empty. Your tongue just accented that.

"Give it to me." I growled under my breath. You remained fully engaged. I wiggled and said, "No. Give IT to me!" I pushed back your head. I have no idea whether it was moonlight or what, but I could see white in your eyes. It was a sneaky sort of glare. "I must have you NOW." White shrunk behind smiling cheeks.

You thrust three fingers into my totally slick hole and curved them up to pound on the inner front wall. The fill was exquisite, but I wanted feel of your whole body on me. I needed pressure not just between my legs, but also above them, on my stomach and my chest and my arms.

I pushed up to my elbows. There you crouched, like a child, intense with a game of marbles, perhaps. Had my eyes adjusted? I could make out your form. Your hands took my hips, preventing me for pulling away.