We’d talked about meeting from the moment we met online. I can remember meeting you as if it had just happened, an electrical charge that sizzled instantly. Within a few days, I knew with utter simplicity that I was yours. I knew it. You knew it. Occasionally, we’d bring the subject of meeting face to face, pondering what we’d feel, and knew that it was something we’d have to do or always wonder.
Over the next two years, we came full circle. We’d been together, then not together yet missing each other. We’d tried to stay apart, and found that the fierce electricity wouldn’t allow a platonic friendship. We surrendered to each other again with a fullness and willingness that was stunning in its clarity. And always, just below the surface, like a glimpse of something precious shining up at our reflection, was the knowledge that we simply had meet. I’d fantasized about seeing you, being able to touch your face, to close my eyes and inhale the scent of your skin. Desire for you expressed itself as I gasped your name at the moment of each swollen, haunted release of orgasm. I unconsciously compared every deep, resonant voice I heard with yours. Ah, your voice. Deep, soft, commanding, full and rounded like ripe fruit, rumbling through the phone. You knew as well as I did that hearing your voice only made me ache for you more.
Our awareness of togetherness had grown more intense over time. At random times, I’d feel you next to me and know you were thinking of me. I learned to suppress the urge to turn my head, knowing you weren’t really there. Instead, I realized that if I paused and closed my eyes, relaxing into the feeling of you, I could sense you thinking of me. Over time, we’d become so much a part of the other that the distinction of distance had blurred. So when we finally decided that it was time, I was more than ready.
A colleague of mine had mentioned that his family wouldn’t be able to utilize a cabin they’d rented for the weekend and would I like to go. I jumped at his offer. The cabin, he said was right on the lake, high on the mountain. It was like déjà vu, since I’d long fantasized about spending time with you in just such a setting. Discussing it, we knew better than to let such a gift as a weekend together slip through our fingers. It was time.
I arrived the day before you got there. I wanted to be alone, to stock the cabin with wonderful things to eat, and to place flowers and candles everywhere, to wander around and touch things that I knew you’d soon be touching, the miles between us measured in inches, not hundreds of miles. I wanted to create a setting for our memories before the reality of your arrival. Stepping onto the front porch, which wrapped all around the cabin, I sighed. It was so beautiful, the canopy of trees hugging the long, winding dirt road, curving like a woman’s form beneath a lover’s hands. I unlocked the door with fingers that fluttered with excitement and raced through the cabin, peeking into rooms and cupboards, gazing out the windows and dancing around the cabin with utter delight to the rhythm of music only I could hear. It was perfect.
I unloaded groceries and several bottles of wine, along with wet earth-colored bottles of the deep, dark beer I knew you enjoyed, my fingers momentarily curving around the bottle, imagining your hands at the cold glass. Then I headed up the road to sightsee, finding a field of wildflowers in riotous colors, which I carefully picked to set into vases around the cabin. I set candles of every size and color imaginable in every room of the small cabin, inhaling the scent of wildflowers and beeswax, blending with the smell of pine and the lake that lapped at the elevated porch. That night, I sprawled in the bed we’d soon be sharing, barely able to sleep, getting up to gaze out the bedroom windows at the smooth, flat calm of the lake. The night was getting chilly and the moon, fat and languid, was nearly full, and the water seemed lit from within the blue expanse with the setting of mountain behind it. Paradise.
The next morning, I couldn’t sit still, pacing down the back steps of the deck to the lake, straightening things up, making sure the wine was cold, aching for your arrival. I felt like a kid waiting for her turn on an amusement park ride, sensing each mile between us closing the distance between us. Closing my eyes, I could sense your foot on the gas pedal, wondering all the same things that I was wondering, excited to finally touch, see each other, kiss, love. I sat on the porch in a big Adirondack chair, feet propped up on the railing to knit my latest sweater, stopping every few stitches to listen for you.
I heard the sound of a deep engine, hearing it before I saw it come around one of the dirt road curves. My fingers froze mid-stitch and I closed my eyes again, searching my sense of you for your nearness. The sound of the engine grew louder…closer…nearer, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. My heart began to pound in my chest. I reminded myself to take a few deep breaths to help steady my nerves. Emerging around through the canopy of trees was your truck, tinted windows darkened so I couldn’t see you. But I knew it was you. I could feel it. As the truck’s door opened, I set my knitting down on the small table, and stood, shaking my long hair away from my eyes. Two feet hit the dirt with a thud that set up a small puff of dust, the door swinging wider. Curiously, my gaze locked on the door closing, unwilling to look higher in case it wasn’t really you. The moment was finally here. And then I looked up.
There was no sound. Not anywhere. It was as if even the birds and the breeze rustling through the tops of the pines, sounding like the whisper of a woman’s silk dress rustling were silent, observing the moment, time momentarily halted as we looked at each other for the first time. And then the world sped up, jerked back to resuming normalcy, and I leaped off the porch, running toward you. Even with a bra, my full breasts bounced, but I didn’t care. All I knew was that each footstep brought me closer to you, your arms spread as wide as your grin, and then I was there, with you, your arms wrapping tightly around me, on tip-topes my face buried in your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin, my arms wrapped around that barrel chest of yours. Two people in love, sighing the sigh that lovers throughout the ages have done when they know they have found home in each other.
At last, I pulled back enough to turn my face to yours, feeling your large hand under my chin, turning my face up to yours. Mouths finding and seeking that first kiss ached for, longed for. Part of me wondered if I had dreamed of this kiss for so long and so often that it was simply a more realistic fantasy. The feel of the tip of your tongue greeting mine was real. Your lips, soft and full, molded perfectly against mine. I leaned into you as your arms tightened around me, pulling me closer, a low moan escaping me, echoed by your own.
Without words, we turned to the cabin, hand engulfed in yours, fingers twined. Quick gazes at each other, eager to close the heavy wooden door and complete our retreat from anything that didn’t have to do with being alone. Soft strains of 1940s jazz. Rounded, sturdy furniture. You quickly assessed each room you came to, eyes taking in every detail before looking at me again. I couldn’t quite believe that you were actually there, and touched the side of your face, feeling you lean into my hand. Almost roughly, you pulled me into your arms again, my chest pressed hard against yours, and I suddenly I understood the swirling sensation of swooning. With a deep sigh and my knees suddenly weak, I felt your heartbeat against my chest, as rapid as my own.
I half-wondered if we’d head immediately for the bedroom, but we didn’t. As if we’d simply not seen each other in a while, we headed for the kitchen. I pulled two wineglasses out of the cupboard, watching you deftly get the cork from a bottle of white Zinfandel. You followed me out to the back of the porch, to sit on the deck directly over the water, and finally, as you finished pouring the wine. In unison, we toasted, “To us.”
We stood at the railing overlooking the lake, inhaling the crisp air. It smelled as the mountains do, with the distinctive knowledge that autumn would come soon. In a cocoon of intimacy, we inhaled deeply, smelling the earthy largeness of the mountains, hearing the haunting call of loons, a sure sign of the crisp days approaching.
We began to talk, small banter, speaking of inconsequential things, leaving the true beauty of being together unspoken, for words could not describe something so precious, so soon. The words were formed, said, things we knew we’d not need to remember later, and I knew that we were each focused far more on the sound of each other’s voices, on gazing at the lips saying these things that were the upper crust of the real meaning of the things we were saying. As if one person, we finished our wine and went inside as the shadows were beginning to grow longer.
Wanting to savor the thought that we had all weekend ahead of us, we preparing a meal of salad, salmon, and steamed asparagus I’d purchased from the little store the day before. Sitting next to each other, thighs and fingers touching while we ate, interspersed with quickly, softly caressing each other’s hands. Knowing we could finally do so, we turned to give and receive gentle kisses that felt all the more miraculous simply because we could. I felt your hand on my thigh as if there were no place else they could possibly belong. Between sips of wine, I reached over to kiss the side of your neck, something I’d longed to do for so long. Dinner finished, we washed the dishes together, taking every opportunity to touch fingers, to smile, to gaze. You studying the green of my eyes, me drinking in the startling blue of yours.
The water just outside lapped against the pilings, enhancing the sense of slowness, like a movie played so we could pause, breathe, and move again, as you led me to the bedroom. With you behind me, I unbuttoned my shirt and let it fall to the floor, leaning back to press against you. Turning, your fingers at my shoulders, to pull your shirt up and off, dropping on top of mine. My white bra between us, moving closer to hold each other again, the feel of your lips on my neck, your hands pushing my hair back, smoothing down my back to unclasp the fabric between us. I gasped in pure tactile pleasure as you slipped your fingers under the straps and pushed them down my arms, letting it drop to the floor. Oh, the sight of you, your hands cupping my breasts, leaning down to kiss each nipple, teeth grazing over their hardness. I rubbed my hands at your scalp, rubbing over your so-short hair. I had room only for the sensation of you, your touch, your mouth, engulfed and each movement amplified.
Scooping me up, my legs wrapped around your waist, you took the two steps remaining to the bed and lowered me down. I lay back, propped my feet at the edge, and lifted my hips while I unbuttoned my shorts, pushing them along with my panties down. As you stood over me, raking your gaze over my body, I knew I should feel some sense of modesty, but I did not. My body was your palette, and we both knew it. No one had ever made me feel the way you do, and there was no room for anything except the throbbing, technical awareness of each other. Your hands stroked from my knees, up the inside of my thighs, pushing my legs further apart, my wetness open to your gaze. Bending as you undid your jeans, your mouth kissed from my navel to the tiny patch of pubic hair that I let grow, keeping the rest shaven and smooth. Your hands swept under my thighs as you kissed everywhere except my pussy. I mumbled, “Tease,” answered only by your throaty chuckle.
Standing again, stroking your hand up the length of your shaft, I slowly sat up and pulled your hips towards me. I pushed your jeans and boxers down, letting my hands smooth over the outside of your hips, your thighs, feeling the muscles tighten as they kicked the fabric out of the way. Shaking my hair back, I leaned forward to return the favor, kissing from hip to hip, tonguing your navel, avoiding even brushing my mouth over your head. Your voice raspy, so deep, you growled “Tease,” as I redoubled my nibbling and kissing.
Pushing me further back, still sideways on the bed, you lay on top of me. The feel of your hard cock against my belly was maddening, my legs around your waist, and I pressed my heels into the back of your thighs, aching to feel your thrust. You answered by kissing me hard, your tongue demanding, breathing becoming more ragged as we kissed. Lifting yourself enough so one hand could roam over my breasts, fingers pinching and pulling my nipples, mouths doing the eternal tango, my moans muffled. My fingers dug into your shoulders and I arched my back, straining to get closer to you. I could feel both your steel-hard cock and my pussy juices overflowing, my body primed and ready, at once ready to beg and willing to do whatever it took to get you inside of me.
Your hand left my breast and you lifted just enough to guide your cock just barely inside of me. Rubbing your head back and forth over my clit, you whispered, “You want this?”
“Yessssss,” I groaned.
“I don’t think you want it so badly. I’ll ask you again, do you want this? Do you want my cock?” pushing against my clit before suddenly thrusting two fingers inside my pussy. The immediate rush of pleasure was overwhelming and I arched my back hard, thrusting up to meet your fingers, pushing your cock harder against my clit. I dug my fingernails into your back and gasped. I knew what you wanted to hear, and I wanted to hear you say what you wanted. “Say it,” you said fiercely, kissing me hard and quick, stabbing your fingers in and out of my pussy, “say it NOW.”
Feeling myself already beginning to cum for the first time, I groaned, “Fuck me…fuck me nowwww.” The powerful surge of my orgasm zinged through my body as your fingers swept repeatedly over my g-spot, and I gushed hard, my clear juices like both musk and sugar water, collapsing back while aching for the next one, wanting your cock inside me with an intensity that engulfed me. Marveling at the way you could bring me to an orgasm in seconds, I pulled you hard and fast to me, my teeth at your neck, biting you gently before hissing into your ear, “Take me, fuck me, is that what you want me to say?” My tongue licked at the shell of your ear.
“No,” you said, “you know what I want you to say,” as your fingers continued to thrust inside of me, your cock rubbing against my belly. Again my back arched, my desire fiery alive, and I gasped, “I love you, I am yours, only yours, and only your fucking me will do.” And with one quick stab of your fingers, you pulled them out and I felt your cock at my entrance, throwing my head back, my hands at your back, fingers splayed, digging my heels now into the bed.
I felt your cock as if it were binding the two of us together and I couldn’t feel anything except a swollen, surreal sense of you, of me, of blinding, aching desire as you pushed your way inside my soaking wetness a fraction of an inch at a time until you were half-way in. Panting hard, you pulled almost all the way out and I wanted to cry, near begging for more release. And then you slammed your way inside my pussy, my walls stretching, the sensations of your cock filling me, thrusting, buried to the hilt sending me over the edge again as a new wave of orgasms toppled me, thrusting madly against you, our hips crashing together, pulling apart before ramming together. The feeling of your cock made me clench my pussy muscles taut, clamped around your shaft like a vise. Our moans and panting became even more primal, the heat almost unbearable, a thin glaze of sweat, the smell of man/woman coupling, driving your cock inside me harder and faster, each wave of orgasms making me cry out. I could no longer tell where I ended and you began.
Arching your back, you growled, “gonna cum” before redoubling the speed of your thrusts and I clenched at your cock inside harder than before, feeling my own orgasm beginning to explode.
The pause. The utter pause of breathing, the moment of absolutely no movement, the inability to so much as stir, and then taking great gulps of air, feeling you collapse on top of me, my legs falling limply to either side of you. Panting hard, interspersed with “whewwwwwwwww”s and hoarse chuckles. The sounds and faint stirrings of well-fucked lovers. A cool breeze rolled through the open windows from the lake, and my face reddened in the dark, grateful that there were no neighbors nearby to hear my vociferous passion. You grunted contentedly and rolled off me, the instant feeling of loss as your cock left my pussy. I stretched across your body, hand groping at the night table for a bottle of water, which we took turns gulping, slaking the thirst that follows intense lovemaking. Small chortles, blowing cool air on each other’s bodies, little nips and kisses, before you held your arm out. With a satiated smile, I moved into the crook of your arm, curling sleepily next to your body, my arm slung over your belly.
As I dozed off, I thought of the weekend ahead of us to do and try everything we’d talked about during the constraints of the miles between us. I contentedly mused at the weekend ahead, with hours of conversation, playfulness, heated debates, and flirtatious double-entendres. I thought of companionably hiking in the mountain across the lake, and fish to be lazily caught for supper. As I fell asleep that night, I murmured was, “I love you,” which you gently echoed back to me as I drifted off in the safety of your arms.