It had been a long time in coming. We had talked about it, dreamed, wondered and imagined how it would be.
There is always that initial excitement, knowing the possibility of passion, coming together for the first time. The frenzied furious groping, explorations and caresses.
That would come, later perhaps, but not now.
Now, as we knew it would be, had to be, was even more intimate. Many might not see it as such, but we did. This dance, our first dance together would be far more sensual, far more erotic than anything we could have ever imagined.
And like a dance, it is interesting that when people dance apart, they watch one another, observing the movements of their partners, enjoying the flow, the curve and lines that move sensually to the music. That intimacy can sometimes be lost when partners touch, the thoughts turning to doing things by the numbers. Stepping here, leading there, guiding our partner through a series of specific movements. The beauty and grace perhaps appreciated by others who may be watching, like actors upon the stage, but that's all it becomes, acting.
This dance now with you was how we imagined it. Intimate, sensual far more provocative and alluring than coming together for that first time.
There are smiles of course, a nervousness for both that adds to, rather than detracts from the heightened sensuality that pervades the very air we breathe. The very bed that monopolizes the room is more hindrance than help for what is now needed, desired. Though no doubt, the bed will itself come into play later, but again, much, much later.
"Dance for me," I say simply. "Dance for me."
That alluring smile says it all. The merest nod of your head as I take one of two comfortable, over-sized looking chairs sitting beside a small table decorated only with a lamp across from the bed which has suddenly become invisible to my minds eye. You are center stage, and you are all I can now see.
As you turn, like a magic act the first bare shoulder emerges from the simple flimsy sun-dress you are wearing. Already I find myself wanting to plant kisses upon that shoulder, and now like a mind-reader you touch it, caressing the smooth flesh with the touch of two fingers, torturously drawing them across yourself to your neck, now lifting the back of your hair where they again linger like a lovers lips gently kissing, exploring the explosion of goose-bumps that suddenly appear.
Somehow I have removed my shoes, socks without taking my eyes away from you. You again turn, but your eyes only fleetingly recognize my presence before again turning, your back now towards me as I languish in the curves of your body, sleek, taut and refined. A second shoulder appears, both shoulders bare now, hands once again embracing yourself, wrapping yourself in an imagined lovers embrace. Though I cannot as yet see, I know that your breasts are now bare. The image of twin capped peaks so tantalizingly close, yet hidden as desire mounts, needs increase. Yet I sit, mesmerized by the dance. You have turned, and for a moment I am unaware, so lost in the visuals of seeing you, without having done so. It is only when I feel your hands tugging on the belt of my pants, loosening them that I realize, and see the visual now made real as the loveliness of those twin fawns of pleasure dance dangerously close.
Automatically, hands reach as though having a mind of their own, but you dance away, your own hands now covering as though a suit of armor had been suddenly fashioned in protection of your treasures.
"Damn!" I sigh with a contented frustration that merely elicits another smile, a simple giggle of delight as like the dancer you truly are, you pirouette away from me, the gown falling easily to your ankles, your back once again facing me now bare.
And again, your hands caressing the smooth soft skin, though they have become my hands, somehow detached from my body as I run them up and down your silky form from armpit to hips, languishing in the curvature of your body, memorizing each square inch of sensitized flesh.
For the first time I sense the hardness of my desire just as your own eyes burn through the confines of material still covering my lust. A warning look as you approach, though the faintest of smile remains. Hands gripping the arm-chair as though fastened, awaiting execution, but it isn't the pain of death that I await, but the pain of pleasured torture as so easily your hands grasp, then pull as my slacks slide as easily as though torn away.
The fullness of me now stands, appreciatively at your beauty, looking once again towards your eyes, but they have again turned, admiring that which draws my look downwards. The tips of your fingers already encircling each of your hard erect nipples, a tender loving caress with the tip of fingers like a lover's tongue gliding across the surface of each simultaneously.
Again I do not see the knowing smile, only the suddenness of movement as you reach, surprising me momentarily, the barest, briefest of touches as finger tip quickly steals the first pearly drop of desire that has bubbled to the surface of my hardened prick. I now watch as you place it tenderly upon your breast, the sheen of its glistening coat now decorating the tiny tower which has risen even more delicately upon the perfectly sculptured breast you now hold within your hand, feeding it as you do the essence of my soul.
For the first time since this dance began, I hear your softly spoke words. Like a whisper on the wind, I hear them, yet not quite understanding, still lost in the fugue of desire until like the breeze they've become, I hear them again.
"Give me more," you say simply, waiting, though your hands now trace imaginary lines downwards, the black thong you are wearing revealingly concealing the wantonness of your sex.
I feel the surge of additional lubrications suddenly flowing, the tips of your fingers once again dashing in to capture the pleasured dew drops, then stepping back. And even though your tiny dark thong remains, I watch in abject fascination as the pearly fluid from my leaking prick is so lovingly placed upon that thin material, darkening it even further, fingers pressing inwards as though in attempt to break through the barrier that refrains them, fingers pressing seeking entry like the first tentative embrace of a lovers cock into the virginal passage of first rites.
I am again tempted to reach out, tearing away the thin material with my own hands, but you simply move it to the side, a slim finger tentatively probing, your head now tilted back with the suddenness of contact. I hear the softness of a low moan escape your lips as ecstasy finds you, delights you and begins the tantalizing tease of your still secreted clitoris. Your own juices now merging through the barrier to mingle with those of my own.
I do so, hypnotized by your words.
"Now show me, show me how you touch, how you feel, what you desire when you're alone. When all you have is time to make love to your own body, to your hard throbbing prick."
There is no embarrassment, no shyness as I begin. And I have heard by your words want you want, what you need, what you seek. This is not the rushed hungry need of a morning's adventure when the furious fast pumping of hand to prick produces the quick immediate jettison of spunk that discharges fruitlessly into the bowl of a toilet, or beneath the streams of a hot cascading shower. Where release is all too quick, all too temporary, all too over with in the blink of an eye.
What you seek, what you desire is far more than that to be wasted. You ask for the intimacy of my pleasures, the secret, sometimes childish memory of explorations and self pleasuring that comes for each of us in a moment of time when we can safely, trustfully love ourselves in ways we might not fully share with anyone else.
As I now share with you. As you now begin sharing with me.