Month: November 2005

Real

Where do you go when all the lines are running across your vision like blurred tears, or rain (or just smudges of your conscience)?

***

12.24.01

D’jaevle draws back slowly, his eyes meeting and holding hers. And then his hands drop to her waist, turning her to face him – his grip firm, movements sure. Pressing forward, his head lowers immediately to her chest, drawing a line down along the top of her breast, along the edge, savoring the bare skin.

Wynn tips her head back with a moan, eyes shut. Her hands start at his shoulders, then slide down his back firmly, moving back up again… fingers pressing against him through his clothing.

D’jaevle presses back against her fingers, his head moving back to her neck and his own hands resting on the front of her jeans, fingers hooked, “To push the edge.” His fingers unsnap the top button, drawing the zipper down. His fingers press down, slightly, just under the edge of her panties, “…press into you?”

Wynn gasps, her eyes snapping open, looking into his, now. She pushes her hips against his hand, invitingly. “Yes.” She keeps her eyes locked on his, her hands push her jeans down her hips and drop to a pile at her ankles. Taking a step forward, she rests her hands on his shoulders, rocking her hips to press against his hand.

D’jaevle holds her gaze. Without hesitation, his hand slides between her skin and her panties, palm inward, hand curved so that she can feel it, from the tip of his fingers, to his palm, slide with deliberate patience against her heat.

Wynn bites her lip, her eyes shut briefly as she groans, then open again to lock back on his. She moves her hips back and forth, enjoying the feel of his hand. Her voice is breathy, gasping between words… “The line… between the two… seems to be blurring … quite nicely.” Her brow furrows as she lets out another groan of approval.

D’jaevle keeps his hand utterly still as she rocks against it, letting her press harder, pushing his hand deeper against her. His other runs to her neck, fingers pressing against it, lightly; his own breathing a ragged match, “You said…as much reality as given. Can you take,” His fingers spread against her, pressing hard, “real fingers?”

Wynn cries out… “Yes!” Her knees begin to buckle… her entire body trembling from the intense pleasure. She holds onto his shoulders firmly, keeping herself as steady as she can.

D’jaevle ever so slightly tightens his fingers that now hold her neck, his other hand unexpectedly meeting one of her thrusts, fingers poised and now slipping deep inside, only to draw out again and remain still, and then, a few thrusts later, press in again, deeper. His voice soft, a bit hoarse, “Real fingers…pressed inside…what of a real voice, pushing harder still? “

Wynn nods quickly, a loud moan released with each thrust of his fingers inside her. She feels her legs begin to weaken, she slowly lowers herself down to the ground, attempting to pull him along with her without breaking the thrusts.

D’jaevle follows her down to the ground, pressing her knees upward, thighs parted slightly. His hand presses down, sliding her panties to mid-thigh, his eyes flickering down and then back up to meet her eyes, his hunger in his words, “Can you handle that?””

Wynn nods again. “Try me and see…” She meets his gaze, the same desire reflected back at him through her eyes, grinning slyly up at him. She kicks off her panties, spreading herself along the ground. “But… can you?”

These Are the Moments

You sit across from him or her and try to hide the shiver that starts at the top of your spine and ends somewhere under the skin and between your thighs. You don’t necessarily know this person all that well. They are articulate. Intelligent. Playful and serious at the same time. They take their time with things. The way they watch the manner in which you carefully offer yourself in smiles and laughter tells you that they can be patient. The way they recklessly steal a kiss (somewhere between lips and cheek) tells you they aren’t afraid to be.

So you do not know this person, and yet you do; in the way you know something you want, the way you feel when envisioning that set of diamond earrings you’ve been promised or dreaming of that stormy-colored silver convertible you’ve sworn to own one day.

And this is the kind of knowledge that doesn’t rest easily; it shivers and burns and chills in nervous anticipation of something that won’t be – can’t be – as perfectly necessary in reality as it is in that moment you realize you want it.

***

There was a moment there, when my arm brushed your breasts, where I wanted you to know. To know how well I can bring teeth and lips to play against your skin. To know well the tightness inside, drawn to hardened nipples that are teased with teeth that are cruel in the aching 10 remembrances left behind. There was a moment where I wanted you to push back, to let go and see how far it could take you, to dare to be bad enough to feel my hand between your legs and against you. A moment where you could want more than you fear, and then match it with needs of your own. And there was a moment where you did, where you said fuck it and closed your eyes to feel it and think of how good it felt to be bad, to taste it just to know…and in knowing be lost in something that threatened to take you under and leave you submerged in a glazed heat that would turn your skin to parchment and leave me drafting your existence in bursts of lust both autobiographical and metaphorical.