3 HoursbyVicki Sexton©
She lets the teacup warm her hands as she closes her eyes and drifts back-back to last Thursday and 3 hours of heaven stolen between busy schedules.
The images are still so clear, and she sees herself waiting at the window for him to arrive, impatiently, nervously. She wonders if the skirt is right. "Will he like it? Does it make me look fat? Why did I pick RED?" She smiles secretly to herself as she waits, anticipating that first electrifying touch of his hand on her warm, bare skin beneath the skirt. Remembrance of past touches brings a great sigh of longing and a familiar wetness. Her fingers dip and sample the creamy muskiness, bringing her fingertips to her lips, savoring the taste and feel, appreciating her womaness. The sigh retreats and returns as a great flood of passion, catching in her throat, as she sees him striding across the grass to meet her.
His embrace is warm, strong and feels like the sun, enfolding her in light. She trembles and draws him closer, basking in his returning love. Their lips seek and find, telling all by not telling, and connecting the days they've been apart, too many, too long. Their eyes meet and acknowledge the stark lust that blazes between them. His hand glides lightly up her thigh, seeking reassurance. She moans in encouragement and is rewarded with urgent fingers forcefully taking hold, probing, exploring her hot places. Let's go inside," she whispers.
Entering the house and turning the key in the lock provides the perfect sanctuary for them. They've never met here before, but this place, as all other meeting places before it, has the special feeling of home. They connect in mind and body immediately, and the objects of the room begin to fall away as they immerse themselves in the sensations. Her hand is stroking his beard, tracing his lips, leaving trails of fire down his belly to his erect penis. Her fingers close around him firmly and her body pulsates with the rhythm. "I want to know all of him today. I want to taste him and understand his maleness. I have to make it part of me."
Following the instinct, soft lips replace strong fingers and begin a symphony of expression, accented with high notes of ecstasy and balanced with low notes of calming. The perfect song of love, and she sings with her whole body. They thrust and harmonize, bringing the song to life and forming the most intimate of partnerships. Her lips tingle as the thrusting intensifies, and she feels his need for release building. She tastes the droplets of semen on her tongue, her need to know him coming alive with the urgency of expectation. Breaking away reluctantly, she brings her lips to his again to share the flavors of their burning passion. He shudders and holds her close for a moment, suspending this moment in time and paying homage to the many hours and days of waiting that have brought them here. "I love you," she whispers in his ear and the soft, sofa pillows mold around them as she settles back to receive his offering.
Who could know that hardness and wetness could form a union so perfect? Who could know that one woman and one man could bring themselves together in such a way and manifest heaven in a tiny living room on a borrowed couch? Their awareness overwhelms them and becomes an obsession as he slides into her, slippery and fully ready. She clings to him and raises her hips to meet his. Her body is a vessel of desire and his an answering wave of fulfillment. The fluid motion carries them into a realm of understanding that man and woman have shared for centuries. Their passion is universal and age-old, yet surprisingly new. As the intensity increases, he pulls away for a moment and feels her need to know him. Moving forward, he brings his penis to her mouth once more. They both understand that this moment is one of learning and insight that will replenish the energies that sustain them as they go their separate ways. She tilts her head back and drinks him thirstily. His seed rushes across her tongue and down her throat like fresh rain across a dry creek bed. She let the sense of renewal and completion flow into her body along with the semen, and the concept of woman and man binds to become one.
She settles into his lap and relaxes her muscles briefly to let the emotion surround her. She feels his fingers sliding gently back into her throbbing womaness, still warm and inviting. He must know her as well. He must feel her release and understand her part of the oneness to incorporate it with his own. She feels a jolt of electricity surge through her body as she hears and responds to his question. Her animal instinct strikes up a faint tune of playful teasing to attract him, but she understands that this is not necessary this time and will not listen. Maybe if it was another time, another place, a different man she could wait, but he is not and she will not deny them immediate gratification. She comes against his hand with a force that surprises them both in its timeliness and she offers him a shy smile. Now he knows as well that they have definition as one.
They lie back and enjoy the sense of satisfaction they have created between them. He gathers her to him and she nestles in his embrace like a small child. Their bodies feel warm and comfortable together like a wool sweater on a cold day. The only sounds are the ticking of the clock and the beating of their hearts, in unison and perfectly balanced. 3 hours have passed too quickly and they realize that they must soon part again and return to separate lives. A great sadness joins the beautiful sharing and they accept that this must be so. He extends his hand to lift her off the couch and help her back into the skirt that she so foolishly wondered if he would like. He kisses her cheek and begins the goodbyes. She flashes him a grin that says, "We're ok. I'll still be here," and gives him a quick hug as he moves toward the door. He slowly propels himself down the sidewalk and back to his waiting car. She gives him a quick wave and closes the door, struggling with her emotions and her physical need to beg him to stay. He waves in reply, noticing that she has already left him. The 3 hours becomes a memory that they both will cherish and relive when the pain of separation becomes too much, a mutual gift of strength and reassurance that will bring them together again and again.
The tea is cold now. She opens her eyes and the reality of mundane concerns hits her hard. The dishes are unwashed, the animals are unfed, the month's bills are stacked up on the fireplace mantle like cordwood, and she's got 26 emails that need answering. Her husband calls from the living room, demanding dinner and attention. She sighs and allows her body to come back to that place, so far away from the 3 hours and the taste of heaven, so far away from the touch that makes her feel special and totally woman. Forcing her body into motion, she carries the cold tea to the microwave to warm it, mentally organizes her daily tasks, and places the memory back in her collection of deepest secrets for safekeeping. There will be other moments that join this one, but the magical quality of this 3 hours will set it apart from the rest forever. The exhaled sigh goes out to him as a reminder, a calling and the waiting begins again.