Sweet Dreams

I watch you from across the room. In a crowd full of people, all I see is you. Your face is half lit, so I can't tell if you're looking at me. But when I look at you, I feel a fervent desire for you to meet my gaze. I can't place this feeling.

The more you move away from me the more I want you. Your arm lies around the waist of another woman. I see your fingers gently caressing her hips. Its a leisurely, almost subconscious movement on your part. But I notice it as plainly as the pale moonlight which partially illuminates the scene.

Occasionally I glance over only to have her meet my eyes instead. I imagine that she knows of our history and that she feels as defensive as I do. And often, as I look away, I pretend I can feel your intense gaze looking me over. Once upon a time you didn't hide it. In present company, discretion is exercised. Which is more than half the fun.

If only I could get away with being more...tempting. More...seductive. If only she were more oblivious.

We begin with the niceties. Well mannered, controlled 'hello's and a quick, contrived hug. Although before she arrived there was something more substantial to our greetings.

You spend most of your evening on the opposite side to me. How deliciously metaphoric. I make a certain point to stay within your line of vision, so that, should you want to look, I was not far from your sight. I busied myself with others. I busied myself with my phone.

The phone that started it all.

My phone vibrates on the bedside table to my left. The time is unmentionable and the date, even more so. It lies further back in my past than I care to remember.

The importance lies with the message on my phone and the complexities it would imply. Exact content eludes me, but it portends to my form of transport for the next day. You.

Following this, several memorable messages were exchanged and I fell asleep.

I met you the next day. It should seem strange that we shared no remarkable connection in that first instance, considering what followed. But you were a way to a means, without which, I would be very different.

Our friendship grew and eventually it surpassed this general title to a more intimate friendship that could be construed as a relationship of sorts.

This tumultuous time of our lives, may've been, or at least coincided with, a less paradisaical outside world in which we don't communicate as such. It seemed the 'real' world depended on you, on us.

So, logically, we were the real world and not so much else mattered.

Although you were always busy, so our world was not as realistic as the world we were physically a part of. It seems important to let you know that this was both a time of great happiness and great sadness for me. As I'm sure it was for you.

Something I loved, something I'd known, was breaking, on the other hand something was flourishing, something that made my experience less of an unpleasant one and more...story-like.

You and I, being fiction aficionados delighted in this, almost cliché, event, in the warmth of each other's company.

I'm watching you, still, even as people talk to me. People come and go when they realise, though can't determine, my alternate agenda. I don't know what it is about you. Perhaps its the lighting, which is reminiscent of a badly made 'tiki porn' set.

Or perhaps it's because I can't get to you.

You rarely move away from her, but when you do, I try to make it so we meet. I am slightly angry at myself for this behaviour. Behaviour that had previously jeopardised what we had in the outside world.

But there is something about you. You have something that appeals to me. Perhaps a sexual competency. Perhaps such an intense, loving relationship that's different to my other encounters.

Either way, you seem to occupy my thoughts more than what seems necessary considering our current circumstances.

As I am driving home I revert to a fantasy world in which neither of us have the responsibilities we carry and the risk is decreased.

Although not diminished completely.

Because a sexual encounter without risk is not so much a sexual experience as it is sexual monotony. The risk of being caught, without the thrill of retribution there can be no satisfaction higher than what would be achieved on a physical level.

In my mind, I delight in being able to unleash my full sexual potential on your begging self.

I watch you from across the room. In a crowd full of people, all I see is you. Your face is half lit, so I can't tell if you're looking at me. But when our eyes do meet, you know exactly what I'm thinking.

I walk away from you, but stop short to look at you over my shoulder to make sure you understand my demands, and what following me would entail.

You make some inaudible excuse to those you're talking to and hurriedly follow me.

I've not yet decided where to end up, though assuredly it would be somewhere dangerous. I'm just walking, you keeping a 'safe' distance behind so as not to arouse suspicion from the other party goers and so you can admire my deliberate, feminine swagger.

I stop under a tree. A towering oak, though you can only make out the trunk and the bottom most branches. You slow down, unsure of where I am, and if I had, indeed, stopped. I'm leaning against the tree, watching you.

I wait until you draw closer and then I pounce. I push my mouth against yours and we share a belated, yet passionate, kiss. I have my arms around your neck. Your hands travel from my waist to the back of my thighs, where you grip them tight.

Suddenly, though expectedly, you lift my legs around your waist and push me back against the tree. We are kissing without thinking, agitatedly pulling at each other's clothes.

You push me higher up the tree so you can reach my neck, collarbone and the smooth area above my breasts. You're kissing, licking, nibbling these sensitive areas. I'm losing strength and willpower.

I'm pulling at your hair. I desperately want to take my clothes off and have you fuck me. But it's not quite the perfect time.

I pull your face away from my chest. I look you in the eye and you lower me back to the ground.

Though I don't stop there. I fumble with the fastenings on your suit pants as I sink to my knees. I pull out your engorged cock and, before you can stop me, I take it in my mouth.

You run your hands through my hair, forcing me further down on you. You have to move your hands quickly to the tree to stop yourself from falling over.

I stand up and nibble on your neck as I place you gently back inside your pants, though I have no intention of keeping it there.

I playfully move away from you. You follow me to the place of all places, the secret garden. It is within its confines that I give you the slip. As you walk around looking for me, I am removing articles of clothing.

First you find my jacket. Then, my shoes. We play cat and mouse until you have more of my clothes than I do. You eventually find me.

I'm sitting on a table in the middle of the garden's courtyard. The moonlight is reflecting off my equally pale skin. I can see you but I am not yet looking at you.

You walk over to the table and place my clothes on it. I turn my head slightly. I know you're admiring my body fully, before touching it.

I watch as your hands move to caress my skin. But you stop. I feel you looking at my face. I turn my head to look at you. That is what you were waiting for.

The permission you found in my eyes. The look that told you "I'm yours", if only for one night.

You can't get to me quick enough. But once you're there, everything slows as you explore new facets that you'd never have to opportunity to explore otherwise.

The indentations of my rib cage. The soft rise and fall of my chest. The smoothness of my illuminated skin, violently split with soft folds of dark hair.

You run your hand from the side of my face, down my neck, over my breasts, I twitch with anticipation as you pay particular attention to this area.

With your hands around my back you bring your face to my nipples and tantalisingly toy with them using your tongue.

I am leaning well back now.

You replace your face with your hands, gently rolling my nipples in your fingertips. You are kissing your way down my body.

You part my legs and marvel at how wet I am. You bring your face up to mine and as you plant a deep kiss gently on my lips you slide a finger smoothly into my wet, wet pussy. This causes me to tense up and exhale a soft moan.

This drives you wild.

Continuing to kiss me, you slide in a second finger, intensifying my arousing convulsions. I bring my arms up and around your neck, squeezing you tightly.

My pelvis rises to your arm with each penetration. I'm begging for you.

You pull your fingers out and as I watch you place them in your mouth. You revel at the glorious taste of my feminine essence.

With your eyes closed, you proceed to suck on your fingers. This drives me crazy and I sit up abruptly.

I work quickly to release your manhood from your pants and I grip my legs around your waist as I plunge you inside me.

It feels so good.

You're grounded by the sensation of this mortal act, yet bask in its divine glory. You fuck me harder than you have ever wanted to fuck me.

The music from the party we had left drowns, out our cries of ecstasy. We can hear them, but everyone else is oblivious.

And if they're not, who cares?

We are together once more. Bonded, physically and emotionally, in a way that only sexual energy imparts.

We finish together in a fit of mind-blowing, orgasmic convulsions. You hold me tightly.

I know. I get it. I understand. There is no need for words. I look at you in a way you know only too well.

You look at me in the way I crave. Adoration. Adulation. Respect. Love.

I climb the stairs to my room and pick up my phone. I contemplate it for a minute. The cursor is blinking on a blank page.

Though you know little of my thoughts, I still end my text to you with 'Sweet dreams'.