tagLetters & Transcripts100 Things I Love About You

100 Things I Love About You

byAnonymous Author©

My Dearest S,

Remember the time we were being playful and talking about the 'Ten things I like about you'? At some point I couldn't help myself; I stopped being playful and became sincere. I told you "It's not 'like' but 'love', and not '10 things' but '100'." Your eyes became gentle, and the look you gave me combined affection, sympathy, gratitude, understanding and more.

You also looked a little confused, and I smiled at that because I thought I understood why. You are someone whose life is all about giving and I suspected that your impulse in this situation also was to give, although we both knew that you were joyfully forsworn to another. What made me smile was that you had to think about what to think, because the mental habits that come with being a 'one-woman woman' had not yet become automatic.

This only increased my affection while making me regret causing you confusion, because I was, and am, happy for you in your new love. Any pain I felt at not being the focus of your incredible passion is not resentful, but wistful. My joy at being your friend and being a part of your life was not diminished by the reality that your romantic love is reserved for another.

But I can dream and lust, and sometimes feed that lust with fantasies of you naked and writhing under my touch. I can also cherish my memories of the days I shared with you. I take out those memories at odd times and fondle them lovingly. As is the way of such things, thoughts of what was become mixed with dreams of what might have been, and I lose myself in them. When I come back to the present I find myself smiling and pleasantly aroused.

I had intended to write '100 things I love about you.', but after the first few paragraphs what I had written was not the start of '100 things', rather the same combination of memories and fantasies that had given me so much pleasure since I visited you. Very well, let it be that then; perhaps sharing these will give you pleasure also - I will pleasure you at last with my words.

I remember the first time we met. After weeks of emails and messages and 'phone conversations, you agreed to meet for coffee at a London restaurant. The things that struck me most were your wild and wicked gypsy hair, and the intense blue of your eyes. Your golden hair turned the heads of everyone in the room, those flowing waves stunning against your black sweater. You used hardly any makeup; none was needed to make it hard for me to avoid staring into your incredible eyes. I also noticed your hands - gentle, petite and beautifully shaped - and the shape of your mouth when it forms that mysterious slight smile that I think of as your trademark.

I had to find a way to kiss you. I would never have forgiven myself if I did not, even for just an instant. I missed a step walking out of the restaurant, and your steadying hand on my elbow allowed me to lean closer. In that instant I took advantage, reaching over to touch my lips to yours for just the briefest moment. Was your sigh one of surprise or delight? My hands went to your waist, moving you slightly to the side to place us out of the path. Our eyes locked. Your soft hand cupped my face, reassuring, and so incredibly erotic.

What an effort of will it took not to push you into the ladies room and have my way with you right then and there. But of course I did not. You turned and walked on. I followed like a love-sick puppy.

A moment later, on the sidewalk outside, I placed my arms on either side of you and pressed my body close. "I want more," I said, and boldly kissed you again, deeper and longer this time. My mouth closed over both of your lips, and I was about to explode from passion. I knew I should be attentive to your signals, for what you wanted, but my mind had stopped working. All my being was focused on your body pressing lightly against mine, my lips gently tugging at your upper lip as I kissed you.

How long did that kiss last? Did you kiss me back? I don't know; you didn't push me away. Did the light caress of your hands on my back mean you wanted me also? Did I feel your fingertips trace a pattern down my back, signalling active enjoyment and participation? Did I feel your tongue touch mine for one electric moment, kissing me back? Did I hear you surrender to the moment by answering my moan with your own softer, gentler, sexy sound? I don't know, because I had no thoughts, just intense feelings.

And then the moment was over. You broke off the kiss and touched my cheek softly with the palm of your hand. That indefinable, but unforgettable slight smile was once again on your face.

You looked past me for a moment, and I wondered how you felt about being kissed by an older woman in public. Then your cell phone rang, and you had to take the call as it was a working day for you. You had to attend a meeting because of that call, but we agreed to stay in contact.

A few hours later I called and left a message for you. It was 10 o'clock the next morning when you surprised me by calling back. "I've been busy - sorry Sweet. We can talk now if you like?" I sensed that slight smile behind your voice, and my knees buckled. I switched to the cordless phone so I could sit, and focus.

"Sure, beautiful. You know I always have time for you." I tried not to let you hear my surge of excitement at hearing your voice. It took all the self discipline I possessed not to shout, "She called! She called! She called me back!"

Thinking back on that conversation I still cannot believe the ease with which you asked me to visit for a few days and how readily I accepted. Now that visit is in the past, and I'm stuck between being in lust with you still, and having to let go of that feeling. Meanwhile, I carry a hundred images and memories from that visit, disjointed, unconnected moments, some trivial, others not, but all of them indelible.

I remember watching you play with your daughter, and how she had delighted in your little jokes and attentions, how you had made her feel like she was the most special five-year-old in the universe; how you had told her a bedtime story, and how like her I had been carried away with its happy magical innocence.

I remember you making yourself get up at five o'clock every morning to run. When I stayed in your home you had walked softly then so as not to disturb me, but I was so sensitive to your presence that I had awoken anyway, even though my bedroom was three rooms away from yours. I imagined you outside in the cold air, running in the wind, your ponytail bouncing up and down, sweat dripping down your forehead and down your tee-shirt, your strong dancer's legs flexing with each step. I wondered what you were listening to on your Ipod, was it Sugababes, or the new Madonna 'Hung up' that you were hooked on? I admired your self discipline - it was five o'clock in the morning, for goodness sake!

Later in the morning I had gone with you to your yoga class where I admired you even more. When you moved, bent, stretched, twisted and arched I saw absolute perfection in human form. You had been doing this for so long, and it showed because you were by far the best in the class of over 40 students. Did you see how they looked at you? Did you feel their eyes on you as you went through the familiar routine with such intensity? Your muscles had moved in ways that were unfamiliar to me, but it looked so right. It seemed almost eerie to see someone so good at this activity.

I had watched while you were on the phone with your lover. There was a slight blush on your cheeks, and your smile became a little more mischievous than usual. At one point you were biting your bottom lip slightly as she spoke, and your eyes were sparkling, the bluest blue I have ever seen. You laughed at something she said, and feeling the all too familiar weakness in my knees I had to hold onto the door frame to steady myself.

When the call was over you had sat there for a few minutes, lost in thought, surely thinking of the woman who had been on the other end of the line, while you unconsciously tangled the phone cord in your fingers over and over again. For a moment I had imagined that it was not the phone cord but my hair in your fingers being curled and caressed.

Not long after that you were laughing about something, and the all too familiar feeling of lust returned. I had imagined you laughing like that as my hair tickled your body while I kissed my way down to your sex.

The one time I had the opportunity to see you semi-naked, it had taken my breath away. Literally, I had to force myself to breathe. You had come out of the bathroom in tiny black boy-shorts and a matching bra. A common-place occurrence for you. For me, it was the moment that defined my sexual attraction to you.

Yes, I had been attracted to you for months, but seeing your smooth, soft skin all shiny just out of the shower, with your hair pinned up revealing your neck, had an unbelievable impact. Had I been a few inches closer I might have pushed you against the bathroom door and taken you right there and then. What stopped me? Fate I guess – or common sense.

Oh, what the sight of you did to me, woman! The perfection of your nearly (as you remind us all often!) 30-year-old body, looking like that of a 16-year-old; except no teenager could have those amazing curves. You are so beautiful. I marvelled at your legs - lean, shapely and so long they seem to go on forever. Your flat stomach showed the discipline of years of yoga and daily running. Your lithe neck, collarbone and chin are so shapely – they simply cry out to be kissed and nibbled. Your beautiful breasts – large enough to cup in the palm of my hand - are so firm and sexy. I imagined licking up from your navel to between them, as I wondered about your nipples, whether they were a light rosy pink or a soft brown.

Yet yours was more than mere movie-star beauty. You were real, even though the perfect features of your face could have been crafted by a master sculptor. The Goddess surely took extra care when She made you.

It wasn't just your appearance though; you have such a lovely, graceful way about you. You seduce with your eyes, and that slight smile; the things you say and the way you say them; your mannerisms. Do you realize you flirt with your hands? While having a conversation, there will be a touch on my elbow, a hand on my knee. You make me feel like I am the only woman in the world at that moment. Judging by the reaction of others, they feel the same.

Yes, I was in love with you. Didn't you know it? Couldn't you see it? Flirting is one thing, my darling, but we talked about sex, and shared intimate details. I welcomed the opportunity to be playful with you, never losing my head or my balance. But oh, the feelings inside me - I don't know how to describe them. I'll just say 'intense, terrifying and terrific', all at once.

One time I had been lying on the bed in your room while we were listening to music together. I was so near that I could see your heart beating underneath your thin sweater. Your chest moved, and I could clearly see the outline of your breasts. I stared, yes, and imagined reaching out to cup them in my hands. I imagined pushing my hands underneath your sweater and loosening your bra. I had imagined this so many times before, and that night I wished for it again, but with extra urgency.

Seeing the blue-blue of your eyes was like seeing a glimpse of paradise. Being so close that I could smell you mixed with your fragrance. "What is it today?" I thought. "Hugo Boss, deep red. Yes that's it." I knew your fragrances by heart. This was your every day wear - it drove me wild!

Hearing you laugh heartily at one of my jokes was like heaven. I'm the joker, the never-serious one. You told me it was my defence mechanism, as you laughed again. I watched you do your job, the professional you writing. I saw the way you interact with your team of writers and artists and how they respect you, adore you and enjoy being in your presence. Your successful business made it hard to not realise just what a brilliant mind you have.

What would you be like in bed? Your passion, plus your mischievousness and adventurousness makes me think making love with you would be incredible. Are you vocal? I think you would be. I imagined your voice begging me to fuck you harder, panting out my name as I made you come, proclaiming breathlessly how sexy I make you feel.

Then again, you are so intense and sensitive, I'm sure you know how to make love for hours, by touch and kisses only. I remember something you said once, "I can make her come just by having my lips on her clit, not even my mouth or my tongue." How many women have you been with, I wonder? More than ten? It must be. Twenty? Does that make you seem promiscuous? No - just full of passion and life.

These memories have a way of becoming mixed up with the fantasies in my head. I have no trouble telling them apart, but I love to stir them together anyway. Eventually I drift off to sleep................

It is before dawn, and I hear a soft knock on the door of the guestroom I occupy in your home. At this hour there is only one person it could be. Before I can say, "Come in beautiful, I'm awake," you quietly push the door open. The light from the passage behind you forms a halo around your head, like an angel. Is this a dream? No it can't be, because if it were I would already be kissing you!

"I'm so sorry to wake you," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper, so as not to disturb the little girl who is sleeping peacefully in the next room. "Can you listen for Leah? I'm sorry, I forgot to ask last night, and I want to get a good run in. I'd really appreciate it."

I replied, smiling. "Sure, beautiful. Enjoy your run."

But rather than head right out you quietly move towards me, and sit on the bed.

My heart skips a beat, my breathing becoming ragged. I know I should tell you, "No, this is not a good idea. Don't come to my room when the household is asleep, wearing that tee-shirt and running shorts. Don't sit on my bed, where it is so easy to reach over and touch you. Don't talk to me in that husky, just-awakened voice. Don't smile at me in the semi-darkness."

But I can't say the words. Instead, I lift my hand to touch you. Where the touch lands doesn't matter. I just move my hand in the direction of this goddess who has taken possession of my heart. My hand finds your lower arm, and I gently trace my finger-tips along your soft skin, so smooth and warm and inviting. My heart is pounding. Our gazes lock and we communicate without words.

You clasp my wrist and say, "No . . ."

"What?" I question disappointedly. "I cannot not touch you..." starting to pull back my arm. It is a moment of truth; you can let go of my wrist and move away, or hold on and be pulled towards me. Your fingers increase their grip on my wrist Yes! No! My head and heart battle, and it's no contest. I reach with my other hand and it too finds your arm. Once again I stroke goddess skin.

I try to read your emotions by looking into your eyes, and at the shape of your oh-so expressive lips, but cannot. You're just inches away now. We're clutching each other, your hand on my wrist, my other hand now covering yours.

"What would you like me to do?" I ask breathlessly.

You look down and say, "I don't know . . ."

"I want you...," I whisper, and pull you closer. Then, all at once, you choose. You lower yourself, and mould your body against mine. I am trembling, my emotions and senses in overdrive. That which I had not dared to dream was happening; the subject of thoughts that I had hardly dared to think, was happening. God bless your pre-dawn running routine!

I am lost in the moment, feeling your beautiful softness pressed against me. I move my hands towards your tee-shirt, and slide them beneath. You issue a soft moan when my fingers touch your flesh and move towards your breasts. Your eyes brighten when my fingernails gently scrape your skin. Then I can't see, because I've pressed my lips against your neck. At the moment my hands find your breasts and cup them you throw your head back. My breath stops when I feel your erect nipples.

I am between wanting to take a breath, which I know will be more like a gasp, and never breathing again, because I want to freeze this moment for eternity. My mind won't work, but my hands do, as my fingers explore the soft curves of your heated flesh. I'm touching your nipples, and doing so is making me drip with wetness for you.

I kiss a path along your collarbone and onto your neck again until I find a magic spot just under your ear. I lick that spot, and moan along with you at how wonderful your hardened nipples feel in my palms. I don't stop kissing. I can't stop kissing. God, you taste so good! You smell like heaven mixed with ecstasy.

"Oh, God . . ." you groan as I breathe lightly into your ear. "I don't know . . . I'm not sure."

No! my mind screams. It's too late for that! I remove one hand from your breasts and place a finger against your lips. "Shhhh . . . don't say anymore." For a moment I expect protests, and imagine a seduction dream becoming a non-consent nightmare, but instead you take my finger into your mouth slowly. Yes! I feel the warm wetness of your lips around it, and I moan again, because I know that this is it, it's happening for real.

My desire becomes urgent. I remove my finger from your mouth, and my lips from your neck. I promise myself, later there will be countless kisses until your lips are pink with intense passion. I will show and tell you how much I love you, but right now I need to taste your wetness and your heat. I need to know that I caused those things, and that you want me too.

You lie on your side next to me allowing me to place my hands on your hips and press you onto your back. I kneel, and after moving between your legs, reach to the waistband of your running shorts, pulling them down and off. You stop moving, except to raise your bottom and make it easier for me to remove them.

Now you are naked, and I devour you with my eyes. When did your tee-shirt come off, I wonder? Things are moving fast, and I've lost track in the jumble of impressions, lust and intense emotions. It takes all the self-discipline I possess not to push my fingers right inside of you and fuck you hard. I want to own you and show you that you are mine.

But you are not, of course. This is a gift, and I must treasure it. For a moment I hesitate, kneeling between your knees. Not for long! I slide my hands up your body again to find your breasts, savouring your warm skin, caressing your smoothness. Whose sighs and soft gasps are those - mine or yours? How wonderful that I don't know. All I know is that I have you where I want you, naked on my bed, with me between your thighs, and my hands on your breasts. This is the moment I have dreamed of for so long. I swallow hard, and lust is in control.

Almost in control - a whisper of doubt enters my mind. What if I disappoint you? What if you get scared and want me to stop, and I cannot?

I shake those thoughts away, and removing my hands from your breasts, slide them down to gently stroke your inner thighs. I gaze down upon you, breathless again at your perfect beauty. I reach lower, pushing your knees a little further apart. I am right there, poised between your thighs. I bow down before my Goddess and worship her. I will taste her, and give her pleasure, and show her the way back to the heaven from which she must have come.

There is one last fleeting moment of insecurity as I reach forward and lightly trace your delicate pink sex with my fingertips. But all doubts disappear when I feel the ample moisture, and you arch your back, urging me on.

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