Twentieth First Celebration

Thank you for the time you take to read this new post.

Written and illustrated by:

Alberto Santos

Those beverages danced in our heads, making our deepest fears go away. They helped us carry out the best of celebrations. We sweated, we got excited. We got trashed. The entire city had a big grayish mantel, humid, rainy. We made love all night. The last frame I have in my eyes is her nipple, embedded in the top of her breast, and my index finger playing with that rounded little piece of flesh.

I remember something when the cold intensified in the dawn. She picked up from the floor the blanket and the bedsheet to wrap our bodies up. I stop shivering, and her kiss on my cheek, reached my soul. But my drowsiness was stronger, so I continued sleeping. I tangled my legs between hers to warm my feet up because they had frozen.

In the morning, my eyes opened without effort. The desperate dark struggled to stay in our room. I found the blankets mixed up with the bed sheets on the floor. Our clothes were here, and there: on the chair, on the coach, on the floor. She slept on her right side and my body was another blanket on her skin. The winter and its cold try to install between those four walls, and they couldn't protect us from that chilling ashen morning.

I took care that she didn't wake up. I slip down the bed straightforward the bathroom. The hot water shower remembered me those beverages of liquor. My face drew an evil smile when recalling the way we opened that bottle. The hot water shower played a seduction game with some soap on my skin. I would have liked to shower with her to make it again, but she was as quiet as a big rock. The fresh energy of that morning made me get dressed. I picked up at random blue shorts, a loose red top which let my two boobies wobble.

I leave the room, tiptoeing. A tremendous hunger was devouring all my guts. I went to the kitchen, in fact, toward the fridge to look for something to eat. I found some fruits: apples, pear, pineapple, and watermelon. There were also ham chops, cheese, bacon, eggs, vegetables. Some sandwiches wouldn't be bad, but all those yesterday beverages must have triggered my belly fat.

I took the pineapple. Peeling it was a laborious task because trying to get rid of the fruit eyes almost made me chop my fingers. I also struggled to chop it into circular thick slices. The pineapple soon covered the kitchen with a sweet summer scent. I placed them in a bowl. In a few seconds, those portions have secreted a cold yellow juice. I drank it completely. I could feel how my stomach got freeze with that sort of tropical taste inside.

She got closed from behind. She embraced me, grasping my waist with her arms. While I struggle to chop a new piece, she grabbed my waist to trap my hips with her Venus. She wore a blue nightgown. Its lace was loose, so a nudity strip was in sight. She had her hair wrapped in a like color towel. I couldn't resist the temptation to feel the scratch of her bush with mi hands. Her body started to orbit mine in slow motion. It compelled my butt to move at her pace. I wanted her to let me work, so I placed two little pineapple cubes between her pink lips.

Even though her mouth played the game of tasting the fruit, her hands didn't stop. They were in a scouting mission, touching all my body parts, those my clothes didn't cover. She neutralized me when she kissed my nape and bit my left earlobe. Her caresses continued whilst my hands had another pineapple slice. It was half chopped, dipped in its own honey. Overwhelmed by her temptations, I stopped my task and left the knife on the counter. I turned around. My hands started to spread her body with pineapple fluid under the rough bathrobe. I focused on her breasts. I seeded them with that perfumed tropical fruit juice to reap a sugar river with my tongue on her sweet nipples. I took off her nightgown. I also released her hair from the blue towel. I grabbed her hand, and naked, we went to a small bar next to the dining room.

I sat on the table with my thighs wide opened. Thus, I gave her total access to my bottom and its bush. Her eyes wander, lost at the rose that blossoms between my thighs. She got close until her warm tong began to dance turbulent between petals and dew drops. Her ass looked monumental and exciting. She reminded me of a bee collecting some nectar from a flower.

The ring sounded nervous. We wore and hurried up. My prof, now my unconditional lover, opened the door. A delivery service man requested my name. "Emma Solano," he said in a serious tone. He had a pocket for me. I got closed to the man with my mouth half opened. I signed the document, took my little package, and he left. When unboxing it, I found inside a chocolate cake. It had a cream cover as white as the snow. It had big red butt strawberries, and a "happy birthday" written with a thick chocolate ink. My teacher slapped my right hip. It was she who has given me that sweet birthday gift. It had her name written with chocolate.

I didn't know what to do, whether to smile or cry. The prior night, while celebrating, I shut down my cellphone. I didn't want anybody to remember me and my new year, my twentieth first. The prof placed my head on her breasts and gave me the strongest hug. I answered her with a kiss.

My Facebook, for sure, has dozens of messages wishing me a happy birthday. They are from friends, and unknown men, from former lovers, and new ones. I didn't want to talk to anyone. Last night, and now, I wanted to enjoy my time with her.

We had to hurry. I undressed her again. Now we make it one more time. Within two hours, I have to visit my parents to spend the day with them.