The Kiss
My Precious Sweetness,
Thoughts of you, my beautiful lover, have swirled inside me all day,
gathering so much momentum that I must release them or fear risking
that they shall take it upon themselves to escape, and who knows in
what form they would choose to do that?
Where shall I begin? This is a difficult question to answer since the images and sensations are many. Holding you, kissing you, my body blanketed on top of yours, you sitting on me, talking, laughing, making love... Hundreds of scenes flash before me and I would take great pleasure in writing in explicit detail about each and every one. However, since my time to write this letter is limited, let me begin by sharing with you the image of a simple kiss.
I start by looking at your lips as they wait for me: red, moist, soft, inviting. They are warm; this I know before I even touch them. I have touched them so often that I know exactly how warm, soft they will be when I first press my own against them, and how hot they will be when we have finished.
Captivated by your lips, I marvel at their beauty, their natural redness that blushes and deepens as our lovemaking intensifies. This I also know.
Before allowing my own lips the pleasure of enjoying yours, I slowly reach both hands up, placing one on each side of your mouth, running one thumb along each lip, gently pulling them apart, spreading them in preparation for my kiss. They are smooth...soft, pliable and the sight and feel of them excites me, makes me want to ravenously dive into them...into you.
But I must be patient. I know the kiss only begins the process. There is still plenty of time for passion.
As my thumbs pull ever so slightly at your two voluptuous mounds of pink flesh, I smile at the tender sound they make as they separate. Beautiful music; the symphony has begun. They hunger; they want to open, want to be filled, want me. I place the very tip of a finger at one end and slower than slow run it to the other end. Time seems to stop for us as your lips close upon it. You want more; I can tell and you are impatient. As am I.
When the moment crashes upon me and I can wait no longer, I lean toward you with my own mouth, wetting my lips first with my tongue, making them warmer, wetter for you my love before pressing them against yours.
Two against two.
Feeling your heat, I hold still for a moment savoring the sensation before continuing. You groan and move toward me, letting me know you like this first touch and demand more.
I know my love.
I understand.
I will give you more.
My own lips open, spreading yours farther apart. I want you open for me my dearest. Open, vulnerable and ready for my tongue, for me to enter you, for me to take you, for me to merge with and become you.
The tip of my tongue begins its erotic journey, passing through my parted teeth and making the first contact with your mouth and, as I pull it back into my mouth, I shudder with the taste of you.
The first taste. Ah, such a sweet flavor has never been served at any banquet. And for now my lover, you are my banquet.
My lips move now, softly massaging yours. Your moans and body movements tell me that I am losing you. You are beginning to drift away to that place that you go when we make love. I have your body but your mind will be gone; oh still connected to me yes, but gone to your own place of pleasure. Until the explosions, the eruptions, the screams...then you will return to me.
You are ready for all of me now. The full length of my tongue penetrates your lips and you mumble something. I know not what you say; it's inaudible, indecipherable. I care not what you say for instead I feel it. Feel the sound that grumbles from deep in your throat as the warmth of me enters you. Rhythmically moving side to side, licking, tasting, probing deeper until I am completely into you and feeling your temperature as it rises to the point of near eruption.
I begin to pull my tongue out, not completely, just enough to tease, make you moan and grab my hair and pull me toward you. You want me inside of you and are ready to demand it. Harder now, pressing my lips wide against yours, thrusting my tongue deeply and fully into you, wanting to satisfy your needs, all your needs. Deeply kissing you as you suck and pull me into you.
You squeeze tightly, holding me as if it were to be your very last moment on earth.
Your kisses are wild now as you move violently, making it difficult for me to stay with you.
But I do. I will always stay with you baby. Kissing you. Matching your rhythm. Loving you...
My darling sweetheart, the thought of kissing you has me so excited that I cannot wait until you are once again in my arms and I can show you in person all that I have thought about since we have separated. I must go now and will mail this letter to you on the way to work.
In the mean time, think of me my love, and smile.
Eternally, I am yours,
O.
The Dinner
My Precious Sweetness,
Would you care to join me for dinner tonight? The occasion? Let's celebrate the wonder of you, or the contentment of me, or the supremeness of us. Or, if you'd like, we can further discuss the issue, exploring various topics until we agree upon one that is worthy of celebration.
I will stop on my way home and pick up a bottle of wine. I'm thinking of a red. Why a red? Maybe it's the color that compels me to select it; conjuring images of intensity, passion. Maybe it's the warmth that spreads from it as it flows, so velvety over lips, warming as if with rapid friction the top of the tongue before gliding and heating as it coats the throat. Even the thought of your fingers curved around the red liquid, calmly sitting as a patient lover inside the crystal glass, stirs me although I can't say why. Perhaps it's the way those same fingers absentmindedly play with the top of the glass when your mind is occupied; reminding me of when they play at other times, although when your mind is not so absent.
Red? Oh no, we can't have red tonight! It shall be white. For you see, I am stopping to visit the old man. The one with the bad eye that has squinted closed on him for a nearly a decade now; the one who sells clams down off the docks. I know when he sees me coming, he'll smile and I'll laugh at the one tooth that he has left, always wondering when it will leave him. And he'll hold up his knobby-knuckled hands and say "Ol' Ernie's gonna pick out da besh ones for ya schweethard wit my magical hands". Then he'll fish around the bushel lovingly fondling each tiny prize, searching for the ones that give him "the feel" he calls it. Maybe there's something to it; I don't know. No clams are sweeter.
I can imagine now those petite bivalves as they slide from the box into the steamer pot, how they'll sit tight lipped, closed, as if with arms folded saying "go ahead and try to make us open for you". Ahh, but we both know, they won't even need to touch the source of the fire for them to cooperate; the heat from the steam is enough to stimulate their slow surrendering as their two shells begin to relax, drift apart and finally separate. Only a matter of moments and their lovely natural juices flow and the luscious treasure, which was once hidden from us, peeks shyly from inside. By the time they are done, they have completely given in and are totally at our mercy; open, exposed, vulnerable, ready to give themselves to us, eager to nourish our hunger.
I can't help but chuckle now at the thought of dipping one of the salty satisfiers into the tasty broth then swirling it in thick, melted, golden butter. As I lean closer to you, your eyes smile at me and dance along with the candle light, and I tenderly place this little succulent gem into your mouth. I suspect you will close you eyes in order that you may best taste the depth of the first and sweetest sensation. Of course, I know you'll forgive me if I cannot help myself and tease you just the tiniest bit by running the little mollusk along your lower lip, allowing a mixture of juice and butter to crawl down your chin. Then, I most probably will feel it my obligation to lean into you and remedy the situation.
A slippery kiss! Isn't it amazing how lips glide when lubricated? And yours, my love, are fervidly fevered and I wonder how such intense heat could emanate from two such delicate curves. The impassioned sensation is more than I can resist; ok, call me weak, and I quickly rise from my chair not caring that it tumbles loudly behind me, nor that forks and knives have been sent clinking across the floor. Luckily, your chair is sturdy enough for me to straddle your legs and I sit, facing you, upon your lap, which rises ever so slightly as if reaching up to greet me.
First I give attention to the thin line of tasty fluid which trails down your chin, wiping it as the tip of my tongue travels upward. When that's been tidied up, I can now give your lips the full focus of my quickly escalating eagerness and begin tenderly nibbling your extended bottom lip, pulling it into my mouth, tasting it, wanting to devour it. Oh how delightful you taste! The multiple sensations that frolic upon my tongue and lips are excruciatingly stimulating. Our tongues maneuver around each other's; sliding, tickling, circling in an erotic choreographed dance as the tempo rises to a furious pace.
Your eyes are closed, your head titled backwards, the gracious curve of your neck lies completely exposed before me, as you sink into the acceptance that we have abandoned the dinner on the table....
I will place this letter under the windshield wiper of your car and
anxiously await your answer. I promise that the evening will be
deliriously, deliciously and delightfully divine.
You can whisper to me in the morning, if I kept my promise.
Ever yours,
O.
