A Good Morning
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
A GOOD MOURNING
Your hand comes to immediate and reassuring rest upon the small of my
back, as it unfailingly does whenever you are lying next to me as I stir
into awakening. We have shared this moment many times over the years, and
this familiar yet ever unexpected gesture continues to move me. I
sometimes ponder how a subtle, unabated desire for you has remained so
alive and flame-like within me; familiarity so often dulls our sensitivity
to the changing beauty of those we love.
We don't sleep like spoons and our shared time is as sporadic and
imperfect as the paradoxical creatures we ourselves are. We part for a
time but always come back to each other to share the intimacy again.
Your hand knows (whether you yourself do or not) that I need its
warmth, its current, its solidity, to bring my body to life. I have lived
much without it, given our penchant for separations, but it is still the
current of life to me, that hand on my back; it is my food, my desire, my
reason. From your palm to the small of my bark and out through my belly,
which rests flat on the surface of the bed, your solar glow begins its slow
radiance, suffusing my heart with its warmth, flowing downward like molten
lava over my Venusian mound, down farther, down the insides of my legs,
stirring like lights the inner spaces below my ankles.
Perhaps you are still dreaming, unaware of this journey we have begun.
It is as though your instinct is ahead of you, moving you toward me,
drawing you from your solitary flight in the boundless universe of
dreamland. I don't know -- can we ever know another's experience directly?
Still, my imagination seeks images of explanation; what is it at your
deepest core that knows me? I don't ask, I feel the current travel from
you through me and out again; our molecules, heedless of our possible
intent, begin their rhythmic intimate dance.
I listen to the sound of birds outside our room, then the sound of our
breathing, now in unison, all of my senses coming alive. This time, this
unique and unrepeatable time, I hear the rustling of the sheets as you
stir. Moments pass. Your hand changes pressure ever so slightly. Our
breathing is slow, rhythmic, relaxed, yet deeper.
My eyes, resisting morning, are still closed and I am awake within
that light-darkness. You are wordlessly aware that I am awake; our ritual
is silence. We are orphan-close, so far away in this moment from the day
which will soon press in upon us. We are farther still from our
differences, our troubles, far from who we often pretend we are, even to
each other. Do we really even know each other? I think not. Yet, our
intimacy is so complete that we are like one being in this quiet time of
You withdraw your hand as you turn on your side toward me. I feel a
momentary emptiness, a longing, as the current subsides. As you replace
your hand on my body, softly stroking, the current begins again. Past
images come to me like dreams as you move closer to me. You, on your
knees, gripping my arms as I sit, blocked from you by fear yet pulling you
down to meet me, your eyes calling me out from my defenses where we can
touch ... a San Francisco street corner and your arm encircling my waist,
drawing me into you as I am about to obediently follow a green light. The
light; the crowd; the sounds; stopped then, as the world has now. You,
sweet surprising you, moving toward me pantherlike, unexpected, with the
grace of your full presence. I have lived without knowing if you desire me
until these moments, coming without warning, taking me from who I thought
we were; freeing me.
I open to you as your hand moves up from the sacred grove, up the
center of my spine, so slow, so unhesitating. I feel lank morning strands
of my hair being caressed into beauty, tousled farther across the broad
flushed plains of my face. We are quiet and strange to each other,
private. I feel your face close over my hair, my ear; we are still and
new. I cannot breathe enough and am afraid to breathe, to break this
I am all liquid -- no bones, no muscle, no resistance, as I turn to
you; our legs cross-stitching themselves into patterns they know,
independent of our effort. My face finds the cave of your throat where it
can hide. My tongue sneaks out to lick the salty taste of your skin, my
lips nibbling ever so lightly that it would take conscious thought to know
if I were grasping your skin or not. My breasts mold against your chest,
swaying under the pressure, ripples caused by the rising and lowering of
your chest as you breathe. The nipples are taut, stretched to two small
peaks jutting up from the white mountains below them; pressing into you,
rubbing your nipples as we merge closer to each other.
My hand moves up, gently grasping the lobe of your ear, my fingers
softly stroking the tender skin that knows my arousing touch; a touch that
quickly banishes any divas that might be dancing in your imagination,
freeing you to concentrate only on my sexuality and the innate desire to
find our shared sexual rhapsody. My hand, having made its familiar
connection, slides down your chest and snakes around your man's curve of
waist, around farther to that plateau-like center signifying your spine's
end, your serpent's tail. My center finger circles that bony terrain,
gently pressing, pulling you inextricably to me. It slips down the gully,
sliding downwards towards the hidden cavern, still drawing you ever closer
to me as my own body presses forward to meet you.
We are old friends and new territory, each merging affording new
opportunities to explore the others depths of passion and sensitivity.
Finding new ways to ignite the soaring experiences of sexual spontaneity.
We are deep cavernous lovers; celebrants of the mystery of the ages. We
begin to kiss, if such tentative brushes of our lips could be called
kisses. OUr lips, seemingly negligent parties to our increasing heat, take
their time with casual random meetings. Our bodies cling to each other for
the promise of some ultimate home, while our mouths impudently enact their
own rituals of tasting, biting, cajoling, inspiring deeper breaths and
You have confessed to me that you feel fear just before our
lovemaking, that you think you always will. It must be now that this
primal near-terror begins; now, when you are so vulnerable. I am some dark
chasm you cannot enter without risk of somehow becoming lost and changed,
without becoming something of a stranger to yourself. For you to pass
through to fulfillment, you have to become totally vulnerable, unable to
defend yourself from attack. Those moments of thrusting obsession centers
all of your being on the staff plunging into the dark, damp orifice between
my thighs. Subtly I draw you closer, to reassure you that we each travel
towards that total vulnerability together and in our unity we are strength
that can not be defeated. That our bodies will sing and throb and from
that climax we will emerge with new energies that makes the world new and
vibrant. We move toward that universe together, each separate and
wandering in the other, uncontrollably pulled and mastered by a need so
intense it defies our most holy conventions, our deepest resistances; so
humbling that it makes us completely visible, nothing can be hidden. Even
our sounds no longer belong to us, but come from some ancient region we
inhabited long before our learned expressions.
We are floating like phantoms, I am between what I was and what I am
becoming. We cannot separate now. Our joining is a threshold where we are
no longer alone in the aching way we've know. We are a movement, a
pulsation, nothing else. Something at once foreign and remembered. Our
bodies clamor now for the ultimate release of the sensations that flood
through our veins and seize our every cell.
Our hands know their respective paths, even though they meander like
it is wilderness territory. Seeking. Stroking. Stimulating. Striving to
arouse each other, and ourselves. Is the feel of my hand sliding over your
cock as thrilling to you as the sensations being telegraphed from my
fingertips to my mind to my genitals? Each stroke down the length of your
swollen member pumps more liquid from within my well. Your hands are
igniting the heat from my core, rising it to an inferno of stimuli that
engulfs me. A trembling starts from somewhere within the very core of my
body. It ripples through me, each wave cresting over the one that seeps
out the vaginal channel.
Rolling together, your hands steadily guiding me to position atop you,
our bodies grinding together, rotating, pushing. Mounted, I hover over
your cock. Imperceptibly I lower my body until the silken head of your
crown is brushing my tangled hairs. My juices coating you, running down
the length of your stiff member. Lower. Lower I sink, allowing the crown
to slide just into the opening. Hovering there, my body signals the
muscles to clench, grasp, draw on you. With your crown just into the
entrance, my muscles squeeze and nibble at your cock-head. Teasing. My
breasts sway above you as you reach up to grasp the erect nipples between
your fingers. You tweak them causing torrents to flood through me.
I lower my body onto you, impaling myself on your pulsing shaft. Oh!
how I love the feel of you sliding into me. My muscles clench tightly
while your strength pushes its way through the moist chamber. You push
upwards with your hips, driving yourself fully into me. Tremors!
Shockwaves of sheer excitement claw and suck at you. More juices soak your
skin as you merge with me. Our breaths fill the room with soft wind.
I rotate my hips, back and forth; up and down; side to side. Rocking
gently on the pivotal point. Always drawing on you, sucking at your balls.
Reaching behind moving hips, my fingers caress your balls, sliding downward
to stroke the bridge behind them. My breasts jauntily dancing before your
eyes. You watch my face, the glow spreading across it as my body screams
for more. I am lost. The driving forces are pulling at me to go faster,
my body wanting this moment to last to eternity. I can actually feel each
rise and hollow of your cock as it thrusts into me. The pliable lip of the
crest as it moves back and forth thrusting itself into me like a pile-
My heart pounding within my chest sets up a rhythm section to which my
hips dance. Pound. Thrust. Pound. Plunge. Pound. Pound. Thrust.
Thrust. Faster and faster the drums beat as we merge our bodies on the
link of the universe. My face glimmers with the ecstasy flowing through my
body as it erupts into a quivering mass of juices and electrical currents
that curl my toes behind me as my cunt grips you in staccato clinches.
Your cock can not resist and begins to thrust in for the final plunges
before spilling the fluids that threaten to burst your balls. Your legs
helping to drive you into me with a force. Your moans fill my ear driving
me even faster to meet your surging body. How that sound carries me to
oblivion as my own voice harmonizes. Hair swinging wildly about my face as
we grind and roll until there are no juices remaining and our strength
leaves us weak as newborn kittens. I collapse against you, your strong
arms holding me on top while we linger in no-man's land together.
I roll to the side, your arms still holding me. Soft mews of pleasure
emanate from within, unbidden. Softly you whisper, "Good morning, My Dear,
time to awaken."