The clear vowels rise like balloons.

              Sylvia Plath

I wish it were more than just the crystal tone of your voice rising from the rumpled sheets, the bed a distant landscape viewed from far above. The room a sky, an expanse, a horizon filled in blue with white clouds and today, rising into the horizon a thousand hot air balloons, each so brightly colorful in the sun. Your words floating into my consciousness as I touch you, here... there, softer, faster. Each utterance more urgent as the jets roar in a bright flame and the balloon surges upward, "...faster, yes, yes faster, higher, yes I'm...," coming from below - another balloon, fiery bright pink, gaping open, wanting.

And suddenly it was over as the ache in my jaw became noticeable, the fragrant wetness on my face drying as I rest, my head on her thigh. I patiently linger for the reciprocation, my cock hard in anticipation, yet softening some in the wait. The ups and downs of it all feels so fleeting, from the exhilaration of watching her in complete pleasure, to the deflation of selfishly waiting for "my turn." Unless of course you try the fumbling give and take, take, take, of simultaneous, both settling for something less, but doing it together.

I watch as her lips, the lips that just moments ago seemed to surge over my mouth, swollen, bright pink glistening in the light, now descend, becoming a still life framed in the soft tufts of pubic hair. Matted and still damp her hair curls tightly, much like the hair on her head and I envision it wrapping around my cock, sliding over it and finally glistening as it absorbs my cum. A hair-fuck if you will. Why not? It was her hair that attracted me to her in the first place.

Fuck... such a vicious word. "Hey fuck you buddy," you scream at the asshole who cut you off, stole your watch, bumped into you on the street. "I gonna kick your fucking ass." "Why don't we go back to your place and fuck." So callous and uncaring and yet we don't dare go there and make love, that might invoke the possibility, the improbability and even the very idea of love. "God I love your hair, but hey let's take it a bit slower here."

Still waiting, I consider the now tight slit of her pussy at rest, the bright pink nearly completely concealed beneath her darker outer folds, the clit safely tucked away, hidden. Less than an hour ago this sight was my quest, uncovering it from the silken frills, the cotton shorts and the feigned disinterest in me. A few drinks and hey, a genuine seeming connection soon peeled back her layers, as my tongue later did between her legs.

Oh and now she finally decides to move after how long... how long have I waited? How far has the sun crept into the window, easing its way over our bodies while I waited? Well actually the sun pretty much covered us as we started and well it really hasn't moved. So as she motioned for me to mover closer and took hold of my cock I glanced over at the clock. Damn, for all the interminable hours I waited for her to reciprocate, all the time I pondered my aching jaw, sex and simultaneous orgasms, the time I thought of her hair, pubic and otherwise, the time I debated the proper usage of fuck and the hours I pondered the delicate slit between her legs, the clock had only moved twice, once for thirty two minutes after the hour and once again for thirty three.

Her fingers opened her lips and guided me in, into the warmth, the wet softness, the soaring sensation of her. Rhythm became a subtle pleasure, increasing with each sway, forward and back, inside and out as we began to move together, hips in a beautiful unison. A dance without music, lyrics without song as I whispered of softness, pleasure and love. She started to moan, but all too quickly it was over as I flooded her in startled spurts and then fell upon her.

She wished it were more, the disappointment hung in the room like a damp, dank fog, blue skies suddenly gray as storms clouded the horizon. It was like that... a balloon, the bright color expanding with each breath as the excitement grows faster and faster and then suddenly, it ends with a pop. "Too soon, too soon," she wanted to moan at me, but it all just collapsed in silence, the moment torn and spread across the room, the fiery bright pink, gaping open, wanting, still wanting.

I'll remember her hair, the tight curls that might have curled around my... and the balloons, they way they spread across the horizon for those fleeting moments I spent, I spent with her.

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