Perennial

Some things are perennial. Little sparks that just keep burning regardless of what's going on around them – they may dim or fade for a bit but they never go away as long as they're nourished.

I was in a house – not my house, not a house I knew but I was comfortable. There were many people there, maybe thirty, and the house was not large but roomy enough for a family, a small gathering – a little too small for this many people but it was ok. I was younger than anyone else and different from all these people. I was the only girl. I hadn't noticed that at first, not sure why it hadn't struck me but it hadn't. I knew most of these people – how wasn't important, just that they weren't all strangers.

Walking through rooms, talking in passing, never having any real conversations, I built up a tolerance to the heat in the house. The heat was from so many bodies in spaces meant for fewer heartbeats. It wasn't stifling, just prickly, noticeable, an understandable affect of so much humanity.

I had come here for a purpose but we all had – none of us invited, just congregating because it was time.

The den had a circle of chairs, ottomans, stools, and loveseats filled with bodies, most solitary but everyone seemed to be interacting with someone else. Entering the room showed not a seat to be had but one of the men motioned me over and had me sit on his lap. No hesitation, I knew this person and if he was ok here, with these people, with me on his legs, I would be too.

People talked in and out of the room but it slowly got more and more quiet. Never silent, never a lack of some vocalization but more hushed, anticipatory.

I don't know how or when but this man I knew, this man whose lap had been offered, this man who's legs were my support, he was cradling my breasts – one in each of his hands. He kissed my shoulder through the cotton I wore. A long kiss, soft, unmoving, gentle and sweet. Back erect, I was proud he would want to hold me and I smiled. Each of his hands held firmly for a perfect fit: pinkies against the flesh just under the breasts, ring and middle fingers supporting below the nipple, index fingers just above the nipple but close enough to graze, thumb above the areolas. Hands much warmer and softer than they should have been, heated air coalescing on burning cheeks, there was no shame in this, I knew it and the others seemed to see that too.

Ages didn't matter, familiarity didn't matter, occupation didn't matter – we were here, we were together and that was that – no further explanation needed.

Though I can't recall what he said, my support asked something, muffled by my shirt, my shoulder, the heat. There was some sort of connection missing. Upon realizing this, I needed his skin on my skin – no more fabric, no cover. My arms went up with the hem in my hands & I pulled the shirt over, above, off. Where his hands had been holding me, there was cold not because it was cold but because his heat had vacated those spaces. Gently, he returned his hands to where they'd been and his mouth to that space on my shoulder. I think I was humming – I know I was smiling, floating, ecstatic for the security, beauty and humanity this man was giving. Basking would be a good way to describe what I think we were all doing in those moments.

There was a third hand, this one placed on the side of my neck, thumb pressing up at the outer edge of my jaw. And a second set of lips, these above my breasts and below my collarbone. Tender but pressing, insistent. Listing my head to look up, I couldn't help but to be happy, full of a lovely, vibrating current.

I placed hands on shoulders before me, pressing back and he went back to his seat. Standing, there was cold again where hands and mouths had been. A good shiver, a healthy one that just reinforces the enjoyment of heat. I had been wearing a skirt but it was pooled around my feet now. The bra was being unhooked as I stood and I shrugged my shoulders forward to help it fall away. A man kneeling in front of me peeled panties off of hips and pulled them purposefully down until they were reacquainted with my skirt.

I watched as he looked up and leaned forward to kiss my bare mound. The heat was back and not just in places touched.

Have you ever felt glorious in your own skin? Completely filled with joy and serenity and an openness you don't have every day? That was it for me – everything became beautiful and real in that time.

The man still seated behind me placed hands on my hips and guided me back down to sitting. He didn't keep them there but allowed them to travel the paths up my sides, over my stomach and breasts, across my thighs, following my spine, all of the paths on the skin he could reach. It was only natural that I lean into him after a moment and part my legs for him to reach other paths.

This is where hands should be – traveling. This is what hands were meant for – bring out what is already there, holding, caressing, fondling, touching, helping, pressing, guiding, touching.

A sense of melting and melding as skin brushed skin and heat radiated in and out. A sense of understanding as lips and tongues danced where they hadn't been moments earlier.

Hips rocking to make contact, to give and take. His clothes were no longer on his body either but it wasn't worth identifying when. Arms encircled my waist, pulling me closer into the body behind. A warm cheek resting at the base of my neck as a mouth suckled one nipple. He was erect and I was wet, simple and natural. Everyone in the room was where they needed to be and doing what they needed to be doing – it didn't really matter except that it was right.

His hardness slipped and bobbed between my thighs. Sometimes making contact with my sex, sometimes thumping a leg, sometimes waving like a thick read – upright and beautiful.

Light danced in the air around us, as did hands on bodies around the room... most likely, around the house. I almost think it was the moment when all of humanity danced together, everyone touched and felt and everyone appreciated.

A man I hadn't seen was stroking my hair and one cheek, gently leaving in his wake contrails of warmth across the sky of my skin.

Kiss on the lips, parted. Tongue darting to taste sweetness. Soft moan as my hips shift to accommodate a forward lean of my torso meant to encourage this kiss. The shift made the head of his shaft press firmly against my clit. Wonderful shudder, tingling heat and sweetness in response.

Two men across the room holding each other – I know they weren't gay a moment before and aren't even now, just two people finding each other beautiful and close.

Pressure and acceptance meet as this man behind me guides himself into spaces I can offer. I welcome him and reach for what is offered in front of me. No longer a mouth, no lips or tongue, but a wonderful, silken-domed part of the man before me. To hold away would have been wrong.

Thumbs and fingers pressing into hips, thighs, stomach, bringing hunger to sate. The man standing holds himself for me, veins lifted, toes curling, breath quickened. My lips dry against the smooth skin he presents, kissing such sweetness, a drop quietly appears. Licking myself and him, part moistened lips and slowly press forward until my tongue is caressing that tight bit of bowstring between head and shaft. Softly, gently testing and tasting. Lips applying pressure, creating suction with my mouth I see delight as I look up.

There is another woman in the room, just a seat or two away – I hadn't seen her before but she is doing as I do. She is in rapture, as are the men around her. A sister to me in movement and sense. A mother to sensations birthed of contact with her. A daughter as those around her take great care while helping her learn to move alone and with.

My lips contract to hold firm the flesh between them, reverently suckle, taste, pleasure. Tongue pressing at the underside as I slowly move forward, warming more of him with each second. Balancing myself with one hand on his thigh and using the other to cradle and gently fondle his balls, I let my mouth and head dance back, forth, up, down, turn this way then that. Salivating for the eternal loveliness of man, soaking in the gift he's giving as I accept and rejoice in the man beneath me.

There is pressure everywhere but freedom too. A light show behind my eyelids and tension in relaxed muscles. The room smells of sex, warm, musky, vivid – like us. Another woman on her knees near the center of the room. Nobody is near her and she is touching herself – dipping, circling, massaging as she enjoys her own skin in this moment.

We've been at this for millennia, ages, we are ancient yet we're babes in the woods. We know nothing of ourselves without knowledge of each other... and so we continue.

The man I know, the one beneath, behind me – he is moving more quickly and I meet his hips with a need to find further depths he will navigate. Legs splayed as I suck on the cock in my mouth, I press my face as far forward as possible, feeling that man's pubic hair against my nose while I try to move my tongue still. Now I stretch and straighten my torso, pushing my hips hard against the man inside me. Rock the hips, grind, press, shift and twist.

Sighs and moans, pleasure sounds around the room. I hum. Someone giggles. More women are here... how did I miss them? People touch each other and themselves, giving in to skin, tasting each other's essence. There is no end to touch, no limit.

We three continue to rock and thrust, pushing and taking each other. Flooded with fluids – my own and this other's – I swallow and suck, lick and lap as he shudders with weakened knees and gasped moans. Eyelids flutter as eyes no longer need to see what the body is feeling. I am in throws, waves, pulses... I thrum with a rhythm my own and theirs. Everything sensitized against air currents borne by sighs and moving limbs.

The house is now full of touching – not just this room, not just my line of sight. But my eyes are closed and I only see what is in my mind. This man who has given himself to me backs away and becomes limp while he stands taller, more proud and strong than before. While his cock is no longer erect, he is more than he was in my eyes. Smiling, he turns to go – I don't know where and it doesn't matter; he's not leaving me or anyone else, he is just continuing.

The melody of caught breath. Around the room, almost in unison, we women cum. Catching breath as it searches to escape with the pulse and flow of our orgasms. Any touch is like an icefire and some of us moan, some sigh, some laugh, others are silent and others weep for joy. These people who touch us, both men and women, who bring us to this little death, relish the place they occupy, this space of giving while they take away the joyful explosions.

Eyes open and I see we are all women now. Where did the men go? The one I knew? Wait... there is no one else – it's me. I'm alone in this house, in this room... ah, I've been asleep. Eyelids flutter – a smile and intake of breath as heat floats from skin. One hand between my legs continues to gently rub my clit and I close my eyes again.

Another dream... am I alone? No, they are all here.

We are perennial.