Letters – Phoenix

I’m sleeping in Max’s bunk-bed now he’s in Alaska right now. There are blue moose on the flannel sheets and the fuzzy blanket & the primary colors bedspread. Those I usually throw off sometime in the night. There’s a ‘precious moments’ pillowcase. All of that plus the toys scattered around make it very childlike. But — that could be erotic, no?

I particularly like the idea of playing in a child’s bedroom. I imagine binding your hands to the wooden fourposter, moving together on the blue moose and snowman sheets.

In one fantasy, I imagine us in the fourposter bunk, in the lower bunk which is still unmade, the sheets from the upper bed falling around is like curtains, hiding us. I imagine riding you, hips pressed together and rocking, slowly. Both of us naked and sweating a little in the hot night as your hands bound to the head of the bed as I tease you, or else on my hips, my thighs or ass as we move together, rocking the bed like a cradle.

In another fantasy (this one is similar, they both have to do with the bunk-beds. A lovely new place to play). We are together in the upper bank, laying side by side in the tiny space under just the sheets. Dark outside, the curtains drawn, the house still. We face each other, arms and legs forced to overlap, tangled together, breasts to chest, bellies almost touching but not quite. Slowly and lazily we touch one another, leisurely strokes, unhurried and teasing. Our mouths meet, hungry, kissing, biting one another — mouth on flesh, warm palms and fingertips caressing — we tease each other all night, coming over and over until we are spent, exhausted – the pushing further, further — until we fall asleep, sleeping hard, pressed together like that. Waking up in the morning in one another’s arms.