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Reality and fantasy are two things that when mixed can become erotic, heart pounding blood pumping experiences. This story is about a fantasy that becomes reality but is never real. This story although, is not like my others-- but it is the emotion of that which I'm trying to convey.
The air is thick, and the streetlights are casting shadows over space-- it all creates this misty palm of mysteriousness in the night. The cold air is wet and I can feel it upon my face.
Sex is often betrayed as a simple shallow emotion. Sex to me is as deep as you can get. I was not dating him; we are just friends who hold this invisible thread between us, ever since the brutal ending of the time when we were once lovers. He told me, he'll always and he does, hold a place for me in his heart. What I didn't tell him, but I knew he could see in my sympathetic but mocking eye is that somewhere, maybe not in my heart--but somewhere else, I hold a place for him. He ruined me, and he created me, and now he gives me him to mold. His swings, his zigzags are those I cannot even fathom to follow. But sometimes the path leads to me.
His warm kisses float and linger on my delicate neck. He lifts me slowly in his arms, still sucking on my warm intense, waiting skin. And his lips drift to mine and we kiss, a kiss that is different then any kiss we've ever had together, and any kiss I've ever had with anyone else. It was kiss of lust; a kiss fueled by love. His want for me is fueled by his love for me, as mine is for his. At this moment, at this eternity of sharing the distinction between the two feelings is not made. They are one. We kiss to show our love. But it because we kiss-- we love.
And love is something he was not afraid to show that night, as he gently pulled apart at the shiny mother of pearl buttons on my blouse. His lips meet the soft skin that is hidden behind layers of fabric each day. And his tongue plays music upon my nerves. Drifting down ward my back arches and my pelvis meets his chin. The softness and care he gives with the flicker of his tongue. Is it possible that this much love can be put into such a small action? Oh! But it is this small action that is not small at all. Any action made with love no matter how small-- is huge. And he nestles himself deeper into me as I feel his tongue circling inside me, and his lips tugging at me. At this moment, he isn't' the same guy as he was a few months ago, but more like the guy he was a year ago. He is returning to that beautiful person that I fell in love with. But I'm forgetting the past as these waves of feeling are overtaking the present. I start bucking uncontrollably-, as I need him more and more. One of his hands is resting on my shaped stomach, and the other is placed in a firm strategic spot some where inside of me. So much more of him is inside me though, then he could ever imagine. The spot that holds a place for him grows and swells like a sponge taking on water. All thoughts of this though are forced out of my head, as a different feeling needs room to expand in. It's a feeling of ecstasy; a utopia within your own body. It's a utopia that is most preferably brought on by someone else. A someone who lives in your fantasy and doesn't exist in your reality, unless they want to. A manipulative person only becomes manipulative if you let them. And I have let him. But is it so bad that I have? He holds me now, because he wants to--and I want him to, and he sucks and pulls in such a way that lets me swim in my own pleasure. Alex does this for old times sake, for fantasy's sake. In the present he loves to hate me. In the present reality I hate to love him.
My body and his are now one, and I can't hold back any longer. I start to shake, and I close and open around his fingers in short spasms; his tongue is still flicking over me. My body is tensing in a relaxing way. Alex feels me coming to, and goes faster. His hand slides in me farther. My pelvis pushes up into his face as he devours my love in these quick small circular motions. He takes me in as I force myself up, not thinking it odd, but knowing that during an orgasm-- control over your body is now up to the person flicking his tongue over your swelling clit. I release. I breathe in. I'm finished. And so is he. We're drifting back into reality. His mischievous eyes come up from where they were buried, and he rises over my naked body-- kisses my cheek, and turns away. He goes to finish off Dan who was waiting and watching in the corner. I sit there stunned and jealous.