The Long Highway Pt. 35

Our lips pressed together and suddenly split open and our tongues advance and the real strong kissing begins.

It's like when your penis presses to my pussy until it opens and you advance into the wet, freedom, love.

I like the feeling, friction of smooth against hard. You make me crazy in a good way. You're pulling my bottom onto you. I never want it to stop.

We hear a radio from somewhere. My husband likes to listen to the radio when he sleeps. We don't mind. Everything is music to us. Your mouth covers my breast, opens to cover as much as possible, then pulls back, your tongue twills my nipple. You rock in and out of me.

I've spread my legs wide to let you move me and to move with you. I never want it to stop. I like your way.

My thighs curve to clutch your waist. My ankles lock at your back. We are a crab creature under the sun, in the wet sand. So wet! You are so hard!

We are animals mating. I want you to make me your mate. I want! I want! Oh! Oh!

My orgasm feels like firecrackers going off, in a staggered rhythm. one after another, a string of them. Oh! Oh! Oh!

I like the way you handle me, from the beginning when you pulled off my panties to rough your face at my bush, to the end when you laid me back, stayed inside to let me keep coming, your hard thing making me crazy and then calming me. I like sliding on it so much.

I like the way you challenge me and reassure me. Do you understand? The way you fuck me! I'm not embarrassed to say it!

I feel so smooth, so cool with you even though we're distant. I think you understand and forgive my direct, even shameless expression.

--

There's strange light coming through the window as I sit in the living room thinking about my life and wondering how I'd characterize it if asked to by friend or family. You know the way people sometimes come out and say, pretty much out of the blue, "So how are things going? Come on. Open up."

I say "strange light" but it's actually normal. The hour makes it stand out as slightly extraordinary. This is dusk- isn't "the gloaming" another term that fits? No idea. People never say that. At least I don't. But you read it. Let me do a word check. Yes. "Gloaming" is right. At my job I have to know words, of course. Sometimes students will ask me about one and if I can't give a cogent answer it's a problem. "Cogent." There's another. Did I use it right? Cogent? Cogent? I meant fast, unhesitating. Which has nothing to do with cogent, but cogency helps too.

Strange light of gloaming in this case, that of my home here and now, is pale blue, the color prominent as it appears on the white-washed wall of the building opposite our living room, in view through the window, out there at a distance of some five feet- or maybe ten- distances are hard to read in open space. The wall is situated at an angle. Brick painted white so many times over the years the definition of the surface is almost lost. The brickwork is only faintly visible through the many coats. For a moment, you can imagine a Greek isle, though I've never been on one. The light- between afternoon and evening- is painted on that white surface I look at idly while thinking of things beyond these moments. Of course. As we all do. Pale, almost violet light.

Last night I told Akemi about the start of the new semester, which somehow had made an impression on me, though it wasn't especially different from others.

I went in a day early to prepare materials for classes, which is hard work, stressful, but also invigorating. Looking forward to leading students through the long weeks.. it's a project, a challenge, and not just one. Like my colleagues, I teach several groups at the same time, juggling a lot. Fresh from the break between semesters, I saw my work was pretty great in some ways, creative, even exhilarating.

I stayed only for the morning to get the first week ready, gave myself the afternoon off to be fresh for the start the next day. On the way home, I ran into some students I knew who were coming from the train station to register or take care of some other business at the college. They greeted me with genuine warmth, which I felt for them in return. They come from parts of the world where teachers are viewed with affection, gratitude.

Talking to the group, who seemed to gain a sense of solidarity with each other from the response to me they shared, I saw again how good my job is, rough as it can be. Just from our good eye contact there, outside the train station, I felt again how good people are, tough as they can be.

And it was good being home with Akemi later, good in bed of course- how open, free, unique, also funny she is- but not only there. She too is a former student but needless to say very different in my life from any other. It was good talking to her about my work and listening to her talk about hers, her painting. I saw, not that I needed reminding, how good our life together is.