8.00 am, under the station clock. Cold air whipping around my face, my gloved hands shoved deep inside my fleece jacket pocket to keep the cold out. Expectantly looking for the train that is supposed to draw in on platform 7.
Hearing my name, i look up, and there he is, arms outstretched, walking towards me. He envelops me within them, and kisses me softly but with such passion that my head spins, and I literally forget where I am for a brief moment. Automatically, I respond, one arm around him, one lifted so that i can feel his cheek beneath my palm as we endlessly kiss; and that he can feel my palm on his cheek.
Finally breaking, and setting off for my place, our bodies continually colliding sideways; we cannot bear to be separated. We half-hug, half-walk through central London’s crowded streets, bumping into pedestrians and obstacles alike. Every so often, I stop, and stand back to regard him carefully. He doesn’t object, and returns the favour.
I see an older, bearded man, with gentle and laughing blue eyes that readily meet my own. I see height and strength — broad shoulders with arms that held me tight only moments before; the feeling being a fusion of total security combined and complemented by raw, steaming desire.
I see the love of my life.
We arrive at mine, and pause to catch our breath before ascending the stone steps at the front of my building. Turning to me, he rests his chin on the top of my head (“Adorable!” squeaks the little man living in my head) and once again pulls me close to him. I feel myself held close and revel in the euphoria i feel swelling in my heart, before I grasp his hand tightly in my gloved one, and lead him inside.
Once in my room, we part to remove the various outer garments necessitated by the inclement conditions outside. My room is rather warm, and he looks on with little surprise as, instead of stopping the shedding of layers at coat, scarf, hat and extra sweater, i continue until I am standing before him, in my white socks and a warm, welcoming smile.
He draws an appreciative and audible breath and crosses the room in two strides, gathering me close as if he needs to engulf me with his body. I murmur at him, disapprovingly.
“You really need to be less clothed, darling.”
Obediently, he complies with my wishes, his laughing eyes meeting mine, and informing me silently that he loves the way my mouth moves as i speak. [He will repeat this fact later, in the dim, lamp-lit post-coital glow that surrounds us like an autumnal haze.] I undo his shirt slowly, my chocolate-brown nail polish in stark contrast against the pearlized buttons and brushed cotton, his eyes following my every move. My hands reach his waist and within seconds, he is evidently more naked than I.
We maneuver ourselves to a horizontal position on the bed; each lying on their side, resting their head on their upturned palm, regarding the other with unsuppressed longing. He sees my socks, and smiles a secret smile at me that only I could possibly understand. For months he has expressed a wish that the first time we fuck, I be wearing knee-high white socks… and I have complied.
He leans forward to kiss me softly as he takes me into his arms once again, and i realise that we have just been enjoying the calm before the storm. And what a wonderful storm.
We lie next to each other, naked apart from my white socks, which i utilize in causing a gentle friction on his skin, as i run my toe up and down the back of his calf. He strokes my hair, and kisses me, stopping every now and then to look into my eyes lovingly, and then kiss me again.
His hands feel strong and comforting around me, but they do not remain still. He feels my skin as if he were learning my body in braille, although for now he studiously avoids any of the more easily ignitable erogenous zones. I know he is holding back to increase the anticipation, not in order to tease, and i feel very relaxed and comfortable.
Our bodies melt into one another as we lie there, caressing each other as a prelude to hiking up the proceedings a notch. He takes my face in my hands, and kisses me tenderly, drawing back to look deep into my eyes.
“Juno, my love, I simply must fuck you now.”
I smile at him.
“Well, since you insist.”
We begin in basic missionary, as he pulls himself into me. My legs wrapped around his body, his arms supporting them from beneath them. I feel his cockhead press against my labia, his wetness mingling with my own, and i gasp as he slides right into me.
I mean it. He slides straight in. No fumbling, or “oh.. no, left a bit… yes, right a bit… yes!“. None of that. It is as though we have been built to fit together: jigsaw pieces, magnets, yin and yang, true connections… however you wish to describe it, that’s how it is.
He moves within me, as i tilt my hips to match his thrusts. My lips move along his collarbone, leaving butterfly kisses and delicate nips until I suddenly find myself flying up into the air, and landing astride him, looking down into his twinkling eyes through my tousled hair.
“That was a nifty little move there,” I say, admiringly.
I grind my hips against his, recapturing the momentarily-lost rhythm and increasing the intensity.
“I like this. I like watching your mouth as you talk, while I fuck you,” he says, looking into my face as he fucks me in a leisurely manner.
I lean my head towards his, and move my lips softly against his ear, whispering specific details regarding the other man i’d fucked not hours before; vivid descriptions of how he’d taken me, fucked me good and hard, left me spent and exhausted, full and satisfied.
The more lurid the description, the more aroused he becomes.
The more aroused he becomes, the more intense our fucking.
The more intense our fucking, the better he feels inside me.
And he feels so very, very good inside me.
We keep at it for nearly an hour… the orgasms mounting in their intensity for me, and his unswerving self-control keeping him focused.
“I love you,” one of us says.
“I love you,” the other replies.
“I could stay like this forever,” I whisper.
“What ever suggested to you that there was a statute of limitations regarding my cock in your gorgeous cunt?” he murmurs back, as he pumps and bucks beneath me, swirling me ever higher into my orgasmic haze. “My darling, you are the most unbelievably glorious fuck. Don’t ever leave here. Stay.”
“I’m certainly not going anywhere until you come, baby,” I assure him, redoubling my efforts to make him come. Damn, but he has amazing control. Then it hits me — and i move my hand to his chest.
“I’ll come when I’m damn well good and ready young lady, don’t you– ah! oh! yes! oh god yes! oh god, that’s good, that’s so good…”
I’ve shifted my hand to his nipples and am paying them some serious attention. I am back in the saddle, so to speak.
“Just for that,” he grunts breathlessly, “I’m going to come. Right. Now. Oh god!”
I lean forward again and kiss him as his body jerks and writhes in pleasure concurrently with my own. His soft, full mouth responds to mine, our kiss sealing our ethereal passion for each other with our mutual corporeal lust and desire.
He holds me on him, close to him, his lips against mine, as we both subside, shuddering quietly as we come down. I am speechless. No one has ever fucked me in that way before. I’ve never felt so euphoric.
I know this is the real thing. That connection we all search for. It. Love.
And so does he.