I've come awake

I've come awake
from my chair in the living room;
listening to the sound of the fan above.
Moist in my panties from a dream of him;
Reveries of days not so long past.

And then I hear it;
them.
The boarders in my spare room
just above,
Faintly off rhythm with the fan.
The springs on my old worn out bed.
Her moans are soft.
The pace,increasing.

I settle into my chair,
beneath the blanket one of them covered me with.
I listen, for I cannot help myself.
Tender, the pair. Sweet kids about 20.
Like bunnies, these two.
Alive and vital.

Not long ago, mid thirties,
I too wore the springs.
Day in, and day out and new days to come
and cum again.
Half clothed, unclothed, fully clothed,
pulled aside.
Sometimes slow and fluid.
Other times wildly manic.
In the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room...
Floor, car, against a tree on a path in the woods...
on a towel on the forest floor...
in a parking lot, with our hands just out of sight,
appearing to be sitting up, talking like any couple in a car may do, unseen...
fully clothed in the same car in a park,
abandoned of children, too cold for them,
raining; just above freezing.
How naughty of him to finger me here, and me to bend to suckle him, taste him, empty him of all he has to offer me.

Such reveries.
My lover, now gone on business for a time much longer than I would prefer. I miss him. His mouth, his hands, his body near mine. His voice in person. The sight of him before me, above me, beneath me, behind me, down on me.

The rhythm of the fan, resumes my focus.
My panties wetter still, my eyes threaten to be wetter, but I abstain;
Listen in again.

The sounds of the girl a little more intense.
A faint groan from the boy. Has it been now, ten minutes? Twenty?
The springs creaking; louder. Louder. Faster.
The headboard now adding rhythm against the old dry wall.
She cries out;
As does he.

Only the fan remains.

I sigh, uncover myself and head on to bed.
Maybe there I will smell him, feel him,
taste him again... in my dreams.