We set the date a month ago, on the sunny patio of a coffee shop on the day you saw my handwriting for the first time. You were part intimate acquaintance, part stranger. We met on that app, which means we already knew things about one another that our closest friends and families do not know. Yet I didn’t know which car was yours, and you were surprised by how tall I was in my boots.
Now, as the date approaches, I know more about you. My phone buzzes each day as you send me tiny dispatches from your life, clues to your identity. I know that you drink strong coffee made in a complicated manner. I know that you look handsome driving the car pool: upmarket hipster dad. What would the minivan moms think if they knew about you and me? I know that you keep urban chickens for the fresh eggs but also for the whimsy of it. I know that you can draw images as expressive as language. With each discovery, my craving for you deepens.
Thursday, in the grocery store, I fill my cart with rich things: ripe pears, artisan crackers, cheeses I’ve never tried. The man who chooses a beautiful filet of salmon (wild-caught, bright red, the memory of cold rivers in its flesh) tells me to enjoy my special dinner. He doesn’t know that I’ll be feeding, then fucking, a man who is not my husband.
Friday, after my husband has left, I prepare my body for your delight. Enveloped in the steam of a long, hot shower, I shave my legs and whisk away stray pubic hairs, imagining your warm mouth against my smooth skin. I scrub myself with a rough exfoliant that smells like champagne and makes my chest turn pink, then afterward I soothe it with thick lotion. I want you to remember my softness. I choose my underwear carefully, black floral lace with corset stitching on the back. I wear my favorite bra, also black and adorned with flowers. I like the way it supports my breasts, presenting them to you like a gift. I spritz on my perfume, the Parisian one that makes me feel special, in places I would like to be kissed. I choose clothes that look casual: a black T-shirt, a pair of jeans. I use my best makeup, but not too much. You will know when I’m blushing.
I have been lightly aroused all day, and it’s intensifying as the time of your arrival approaches. I distract myself with small tasks to set the stage. I put fresh sheets on the guest bed and add sultry dream pop songs to a private playlist. I light candles that smell like sage, vanilla, and poached pear. I want to evoke warmth, comfort, the exquisite richness of coming together for mutual pleasure.
You arrive, right on time, but I’m still surprised to see you. The imagined lover dissipates and the real one walks through my front door. It’s that time of year when the cold attaches to people and follows them into houses, and I taste late autumn on your beard as you kiss me hello. It’s neither the relaxed, familial kiss of a spouse nor the messy, hungry kiss of a first date. Kissing you is returning to a land which is not my home. I know it well enough to navigate the terrain, but there are undiscovered territories within.
You brought champagne; a celebration is in order. Our lives are in rhythm: We both got offered new jobs this week. Perhaps it’s coincidence, or perhaps we illuminated one another so much that the rest of the world took notice. There’s no need to be humble or hold back my enthusiasm; you’re feeling it, too, and I’m happy for both of us. Tonight, we are both stars, shining brightly and unapologetically together. We toast and I take a big, luxurious sip of the pink rose champagne: sweetness and bubbles and sparkles.
You tell me it’s time. We kiss, more deeply this time, standing in the kitchen and tugging at clothes while making our way downstairs. I chide myself at the imperfections of the setting: boxes of wrapping paper and other miscellany crammed into this “extra” bedroom, old photos of relatives, second-tier bedding that doesn’t quite match. In an ideal world, I would have curated a space worthy of what we’re about to do. But then it comforts me, the imperfection, as it reminds me that I’m not merely in a fantasy. This is my reality, and you’re here.
My entire body lights up as I watch you undress. Your body is lean, strong, covered with soft hair. I see the bulge in your underwear, a treasure inside that — at least tonight — is mine to enjoy.
We kiss, touching our naked bodies to each other in a dance of recognition and exploration. I re-acquaint myself with the terrain of your familiar country: the taste of your skin, the contours of your body, the smell of your neck, the way my lips feel against yours.
You climb on top of me. I can feel your cock pressed against me as we kiss and touch one another. You’re not allowed to enter me without a condom, which makes it even more exciting to feel you so close: hard, smooth, ready for me. My body pulsates with the primal, animal desire to be filled up and fucked hard.
You’re not ready yet. You bury your face between my legs and begin licking me. I feel your soft, thick facial hair gently brushing my smooth skin as you expertly lick my clit, starting slowly and gradually increasing your speed and pressure. You sigh softly and it reverberates through me. I can feel your desire like literal hunger as you devour me with your lips and tongue. Grabbing the headboard, I rock in a rhythm that comes from inside me, losing my self-awareness as the waves swell to a crescendo. My consciousness is blasted to an ethereal place made of water and sky, light blue, shining, bright, where I dissolve into the elements and fall back to earth in a fine mist, reassembling in the improbable place of my guest bedroom with you between my thighs. I want to tell you about the place with the water. Did you see it too? I’m dizzy from the journey and words elude me. I just laugh and reach for you, bringing you closer.
I’m still trembling when you give me the thing I’ve been waiting for, your magnificent cock inside of me. It surprises me every time: the thickness, the length, the slightly askew curve that allows you to touch places that I’ve never felt before. You move your hips masterfully, pushing deep into me. We move through a series of positions, luxuriating in the unique delights of each: On my back, my feet on your shoulders, watching your face as you sink deeply into me. On top of you, riding your cock like it’s my own toy, leaning over to kiss your mouth with hunger and tenderness. On my knees, feeling your balls slam against me as you pound me hard from behind. This one opens a secret door, and a second time you push me out of body and into pure bliss. This time, it’s an ocean cave where water meets earth. Smooth, black volcanic stones glisten in dim light. Swirling pools of water eddy around me. Water. Water. You are the force of the earth entering me, plunging me deeper and deeper into the cool, salty depths until I dissolve into water myself, bursting out of the cave and into bright sun, suspended in mid-air as the rainbow mists at the top of a waterfall, then reassembling into a stream that rushes over slippery stones and crashes back to a different version of earth.
We laugh at the wet spot beneath me. One of us says something about laundry, and I keep laughing not because it’s funny but because my body does this sometimes. I always have words — you know I always have words — but when I don’t have words, when you’ve taken them from me, all I have left is laughter. You collapse onto your back and I put my head on your chest. You wrap your strong arms around me as my giggles subside into contented sighs. I look up and you’re smiling. We both know what’s next on the menu.
I kiss my way down your chest and toward your delicious cock. I trace my tongue lightly over the tip, giving gentle kisses before taking it deep into my mouth and down my throat. I always feel a twinge of pride when I’m able to take it all, and I look up to catch your eyes. I like that you’re watching me. I give you a brief smile, then you close your eyes and sink into your own pleasure. I wonder what it’s like in there, as I rub my lips and tongue over every glorious inch of you. The scent of your desire is intoxicating and I bury my face in it, drinking the heady brew created from our bodies coming together. “Sex is a creative act,” I think, and I decide you would like this sentiment so I make a note to tell you this later, when you’ve returned from the place beyond words.
There’s a shift in your energy when you’re about to come, like the imperceptible tremor before an earthquake. You warn me, but it’s not necessary. I am riding the wave with you as it crests. I keep moving with our rhythm: sucking, licking, touching, sucking, until I hear you catch your breath and moan. Warm bursts of cum fill my mouth and I swallow, eagerly taking more and more until the last salty drops have been shared with me.
I lay next to you and bask in your bliss. We’ve traveled to the ends of the earth and returned home. I mean to ask you if you saw the place with the water, or if yours looks different. I want to describe mine to you, but all I have are words. Maybe, when we go there again, you can draw it for me.