Conversation

I want you to come over here and fuck me silly. Right now. Before anybody else has the chance to say something stupid to me.

Make me not care any more.

Please?

Have I told you recently how cute you are? I talk a lot about how wonderful you are in bed, the things I would love to be doing to you and having you do to me rather than sitting here alone on my bed, writing in this blog. All the lovely, wonderful, wicked... um, yes. I need to get back on track here, don't I?

So, you're cute. You have the sweetest smile, when you aren't aware that anyone is watching. And that sly little half smile... you know the one. You smile that way, and my heart just melts. I close my eyes and see you sitting there, chin in one hand, and looking at me with those beautiful hazel eyes. You are agreeing that I've screwed up my life pretty badly, but all I can think of is how wonderful it is to see you.

And what can I say about your waist, your hips, that incredible behind? How do I describe them so that you see them through my eyes? The way you move, the way your muscles slide under your skin, the way you feel when I run my hand along your back to your thighs, sigh.

Okay, so I've gotten off on a tangent again. Can you really blame me?

It is late, and I am just about to go to bed, but I wanted to talk to you for a few minutes first. I had a couple of lovely fantasies this evening, one (strange, but compelling) on the way down to Mountain View, and one on the way home tonight.

The second involved you having me insert the plug, and then talking to me about all the things I want. You kept asking, so I told you. I want to feel you inside me. I want to hold you, and kiss you, and fuck you. I want to taste myself on your fingers, your cock, your lips. I want you to masturbate using my hair while I lick your ass and balls. I want you to fuck me. I want you to tie me down and tease me until I beg you to stop. Except I probably wouldn't beg you to stop, but to go farther.

I want you to spank me until I can't keep from cumming. And I want to do all these things every day.

The first fantasy? It's kind of personal, so I'll tell you about it in private.

Sleep well, love.

As I sit here in the office on my day off, waiting (endlessly) for the product to build, I started thinking about the events of the past couple of weeks.

Did it surprise you at all that when I was really in trouble, you were the first person I thought of? Looking back, it may not have been the smartest thing to do under the circumstances, but I had to talk to you immediately. Just you.

Always.

Hello.

Finally a phone line, although the evil telephone company is still playing around with my dsl connection.

But none of that matters now. I have the opportunity to tell you just what has been keeping me going for the past ten days. Yes, you're absolutely correct. As usual. Of course, always being right doesn't keep me warm at night, but you have managed that beautifully as well.

Yes, I do drift off to sleep each night thinking of you. Of your touch, your scent, the way you put your arm around me after I suck you off. Falling asleep with my head on your chest, even if I didn't think I had. The way you smiled when you told me how you knew I had been sleeping. (okay, so I do snore. I admit it.)

Watching you as you sleep. Covering you whenever you kick off the blanket, and curling up with my back next to yours. For somebody who is cold so often, you do a really good job of keeping me hot. (and yes, I meant that exactly the way it sounded.)

You comfort me by your very presence. I know you are with me, somehow. And that makes it okay to fall asleep, and okay to stay asleep even in this new place. I don't worry when you are with me. I know you look out for me, and I love you for it.

And the sex, of course. Can't forget that. As if I ever could. You are still amazing. And thank heavens, you aren't capable of being boring. You surprise me every time. Always at least one step ahead of me, and always coming up with something that you know I'm going to enjoy (eventually). I feel alive again, for the first time in years. And hell, you know I always loved the way you taste. The silly certificate I sent you for the holidays? Just as much a gift for me as for you. A baker's dozen blow jobs. What I would give to have the opportunity to give them to you this weekend.

I'm just about ready to head off to bed. I'm hoping for the kind of dreams that make me wake up all sweaty and desperate for your touch.

Damn, damn and double damn.

Now there's no answer at the apartment, and of course Maria has her cell phone turned off. So I can't find out what is going on, and it looks as though the stupid phone is not working again.

Why can't they get this order right? It just can't be that hard.

If there's a phone, I'll talk to you later.

I probably shouldn't tell you this while I'm in the office, but I miss your touch. I remember how you held me, and teased me, and made me cum so sweetly the last time we were together.

It is what keeps me sane these days.

Frustrated, but sane.

Someone, (who shall remain nameless) seems to think that the possibility exists that I could feel about others the way I do about you. That I might want, or have wanted at some point, someone else to touch me the way you do, to play with my body and my mind.

To possess me completely.

He is mistaken, of course. But perhaps that mistake is more telling than anything else.

How do I express to you this longing, this desire? To hear your voice, to gaze into your eyes, to be in your presence.

To touch you the way you touch me. To cover you with kisses, to lie beside you , watching you sleep. To awaken you the best way possible. To tell you with words and actions how much I adore you.

To feel you beside me, and inside me all day long.

To know that I please you.

I really want to hold you tonight. Just to curl up in your arms, and listen to your heartbeat.

To breathe in your scent, and feel your touch.

I must be over-tired, and over-stressed. I cried myself to sleep last night, and I expect to do the same tonight. Too much time with all the wrong people.

Not enough with the right ones.

Just walked in the door and took off all my clothes. I need to be getting things ready, but I'm so tired that I am thinking of putting it off until tomorrow evening.

All day sewing tomorrow, followed by a visit to a friend who is moving tomorrow, followed by who knows what.

I'm looking forward to my time with you. It is always the best part of the day. All the worries, all the stress, everything just gets put aside, and I'm with you. But then, isn't that the way it has always been?

And I do so love to please you.

I go through the door, and take a quick look around. A fire in the fireplace, a table set for two, an assortment of items that look enticing. All I can say is, "Wow! You really are amazing."

You have obviously put a lot of effort into this. I can smell something wonderful in the kitchen, and next to the table is an ice bucket, filled with something other than champagne. (Thank you for remembering what I drink.)

You take me on the grand tour, showing me the living area, the kitchen, the bathroom, and last, the bedroom. My suitcase is there, as is another array of toys. It looks as though you have plans for both the living room and the bedroom. I start to ask you how long before dinner burns, but you interrupt me with a kiss, one hand on my back and the other making a pattern on the inside of my thigh, driving me crazy.

You tug on the back of my blouse and say, "Off." You resume kissing me and I murmur "Yes, sir" into your mouth as I fumble with the buttons, unwilling to pull back far enough to unbutton them easily. And you don't make it easy to concentrate on the task at hand, do you? Running those fingers along my thigh, reaching higher underneath my skirt, almost touching my cunt. Almost. Teasing me, as I remove my blouse. You open my bra with one hand, a skill you learned long ago and have obviously continued to use on a regular basis. You're good... one quick motion, and it falls away, hanging from my shoulders.

You move the hand that isn't driving me mad to my breast. You cup it, caressing it, slowly increasing the pressure as you move your fingers closer to the nipple. You run one finger across it, making it even harder than the hand between my legs had made it. You rub it with one finger, then two, pinching softly at first, then harder, while I begin to moan "Please, oh please" while you continue increasing the pressure on the nipple, making me want you more and more until I'm begging you just to be inside me. Fingers, cock, anything as long as it is you and I feel you inside me.

I hear a buzzer in the distance. I don't know how long the sound has been there, but you hear it too. You take your hand from my breast and pull me close. You run one finger up over my clit, and then kiss me on the forehead and walk away. "Dinner's ready," you say, as I try to stop shaking.

"Tease" I call after you. "Just you wait until after dinner," you respond. "You'll find out what teasing really is."

I can't wait.

Having figured out what the deal is with the walking down dark hallways into the unknown, I can deal with it elsewhere. But the part about trusting you that much? All true.

Now that I know what to expect, you gently loosen the death grip I have on your shirt and take one of my hands in yours.

You step down. I don't know if you are going down backwards, to catch me if I fall, or if you've got your back to me, and if I fall I will take you with me down the steps. I hesitate, and then feel for the edge of the step with my foot. You lead, I follow.

The staircase seems to go on forever, and it feels as though every time I begin to become comfortable with the steps, we reach a landing and I have to start over again, walking on the flat surface, then following you over the edge.

Finally, the flat surface doesn't end, and you take me through a doorway into the lobby. You lead me out through the door to the parking lot, and put me into the truck, still blindfolded.

You haven't spoken since we left the room, and I am more than a little bit curious about what you are thinking. I hear you open the door on the driver's side of the truck, and feel you get in. The door closes, and I hear the click of the seatbelt. You start the truck, and pull out of the parking lot, turning left, away from the direction of the airport.

Still silent, you reach for me, putting your arm around me and pulling my head onto your chest. We drive like this for a few minutes, and I am just about ready to drift off, when you say, "You did well." I open my eyes and lift my head to look at you, and you remove the blindfold and smile down at me.

You put your arm back around me and start talking. You tell me where we are, because of course I've never been to this city before. You talk to me about things you've done here, places you've been, people we both know. We drive and talk, and drive some more. Pretty soon I have no idea where we are or how to get back, but that's okay. I don't really need to know where we are. Being next to you, feeling your chest move next to my cheek and your hand on my back is so much more important than the location or the time. I laugh, remembering the last time, when I was so wrapped up in how little time we were going to be together that I gave you my watch so I couldn't keep checking it every couple of minutes and calculating the time we had left.

You ask me what is so funny, and I slip my watch off and drop it into your shirt pocket in reply. You chuckle, and I know that you remember too.

One more turn, and we have arrived.

You read the look on my face and say, "You'll see," as you open the door. You have that smile on your face, and that gleam in your eye that tell me either I'm in some serious trouble, or you have a wonderful surprise in store for me. And for the life of me, I can't tell which it is. You climb down from the truck, and come around to open the door for me.

You give me your hand, and help me down from the seat, reaching up under my skirt to give me a little slap just as my feet touch the ground. If you didn't have my full attention before, you do now.

You take me by the hand, and we start walking through what looks like a garden. Once past the first row of trees, I can see a building in the distance. We continue walking toward it, stopping every once in a while for a kiss, or a pinch, or a tickle. God, how I love the things you do to me. The way you make me feel. You get me so worked up that I forget myself, and try to drag you off the path into a clearing.

You put a stop to it immediately, and boy I won't try that again any time soon. I'll be sore for a while, and the look on your face is enough to make me want to disappear into a crack in the earth. I hate disappointing you. "I was just having some fun, and..."

You interrupt me with a kiss. "I know exactly what you were doing. You were trying to distract me from what I have planned for you by dragging me off into the bushes and having your way with me."

"Why, yes, that's exactly what I was trying to do, sir. After all, if you're going to be so damned sexy and sweet, and smell so good, you can't blame me for trying."

You grab my hand and almost drag me along the path until we reach a cabin. It is small, and rustic, and fits perfectly with the surroundings. You pull a key out of your pocket, and open the door.

-information, not story-

I've got a funny story to tell you about that black skirt and the person with whom I was meeting this evening. I think you'll get a kick out of it.

The other journal will have details of my evening.

You have a firm grip on my hand as we walk down the hallway. I exopect you to take me to the nearest elevator, and that we will laugh about the experience on the way down to the truck.

Evidently I'm mistaken. We walk past the place I expect to find the elevators. Of course, it is hard to tell just how far we've come, but I don't remember it taking this long to get to the door.

At some point, I begin counting my steps. Five, twenty, fifty.

You stop, and I bump into your back. You turn me counterclockwise, and I hear you open a door. You step in front of me and draw my hands around your waist, pulling me close to your back. You move forward, and suddenly my nose isn't touching your shoulder blade anymore. We are the same height, for the first time ever.

Then my foot reaches the edge, and I understand why you have gotten so short. Stairs. Blindfolded. I know you won't let anything happen to me, but my heart starts to race. You move forward again, and I take the first step down, holding on to you for dear life.

I reach for you, releasing you from your underwear. I kneel there for a moment, admiring you. So perfect, so inviting. I lean closer, brushing the head with my lips. The softest of kisses, yet I can feel you respond. I hold you with one hand, cradling your balls with the other. I stick my tongue out and tease you just a little before enclosing you in my mouth.

You feel as wonderful as ever, as you fill me. Perfect size. You taste and feel so good in there, I almost hate to move. But feeling you fuck my mouth is what I want. I carress your balls as I move closer, until my nose is almost touching you. I hold you there, using my tongue to lick the underside of your cock while you are buried deep inside my mouth. Then I lean back, just a little. Just enough to feel your shaft rub against my lips, your head bump up against them. Then closer again, breathing in your scent, filling all my senses with you.

I continue for a short time, completely content. You reach down and smooth my hair away from my face and then pull back. You take a step backwards, and I move to follow. You pull your cock out of my mouth and tell me to stay put as you dress.

I watch you until you have finished dressing and walked behind me. I hear you picking something up, but cannot tell by the sound what it is. I hear your footsteps getting closer, and then I feel your legs against my back.

I can see now what you picked up from the table. A scarf. You hold it in front of my eyes, drawing it closer and tying it behind my head.

You take my hand and help me up from the floor. Without a word you begin leading me by the hand. I hear you open the door, and know I have crossed the threshold when the texture of the carpet beneath my feet changes. You close the door, then turn in the direction of the elevator, and continue leading me down the hallway.

On the elevator I try to pull myself together. I run a comb through my hair, take a couple of deep breaths and toss back yet another orange TicTac.

I reach the top floor and the elevator door opens. I've arrived, and so have the butterflies. I step out into the hallway and start looking for the correct room number. Ah, there it is, back in the corner.

I knock on the door and then I wait. I can hear something from inside the room, so I know there is someone inside, but the door remains closed. I begin to think that perhaps you didn't hear me knocking, so I raise my hand to knock again when the door opens. I don't see anyone, but I can see inside the room.

It looks like a conference room, a long table and uncomfortable looking chairs take up most of the space. There are floor to ceiling windows on the walls making up the outside corner of the room. It looks as though there is a nice view of the city if you are in the right spot.

You tell me to come in, and I enter the room. Once inside the door, I see a few things I had missed from the hallway. What looks like a fully equipped av setup, for videoconferencing. A small table just inside the door with what appears to be the only comfortable chair in the room next to it.

You walk out from behind the door and close it after me. I hear the lock engage, as I turn to look at you. You take my hand and lead me to the wall behind the door.

We hug, and you hold me so close it feels as though you never want to let go. I know I never do. You pull your head back far enough to look me in the eye, and place your hand on my shoulder. You apply just enough pressure to let me know what you want, and I sink to my knees.

You sit in the comfortable-looking chair, and you say, "Tell me everything that has happened since we were together last." I start to tell you about the car rental, and the paperwork, and the very helpful personnel, but you stop me, saying "No. Not just since this morning. Since we parted the last time."

Now I understand what you want. And I tell you. Everything. All the self-destructive things, all the mistakes, all the decisions. I tell you about the days I have been late, the one I missed, the times I was tempted to go to sleep without saying good night or to wrap myself up like a mummy against the weather rather than dressing for you. I tell you about the times I have wanted to comply and do as I have been instructed in the mornings, to start my day the way you like, but haven't been able to manage no matter how hard I tried. I tell you about how hard the holidays were, and how much I missed you.

I study the carpet as I tell you these things. I don't want to see the look of disappointment on yuor face when I tell you of my mistakes. I know you understand, that you don't expect perfection from anyone, but I hate the fact that I fail you sometimes. By the time I finish telling you everything I can remember, including any number of things you probably don't want to hear, I'm once again shaking so badly I can barely hold myself upright.

I continue, telling you about the rental agency. I have, I believe, made an impression. I hand you the paperwork while telling you about the girl at the counter. I tell you how helpful she was, how she gave me a far better car than I had reserved without an extra charge, how she had come over to my side of the counter and pointed things in the contract out that she thought I should read carefully. How she leaned over my shoulder while I signed.

Then I hand you the card I received and tell you about the gentleman, the clipboard, the pen. I tell you about his offer to help me if I found that I needed anything, his request that I call him if I wanted a rental in the future.

I look up at you at the end of my recitation, and you are smiling.

You get up and approach me, and you reach out and take my hand. You help me up, and hold me until the shaking is under control. You lead me by the hand to the conference table and bend me over it. You lift the back of my skirt run your hand over my behind and tell me that this is just for those things I may have forgotten to tell you about, the little things that might spring to mind later and prey on me unless I know they've been dealt with. This is to take care of them. The larger transgressions will be dealt with later.

You back away from me and pick something up. I can't see exactly what it is from where I am, but I have a good idea. You keep me waiting. The wait intensifies my anticipation and fear of what is to come. I know it won't be the kind of spanking I asked you for a few months ago. It will be one to punish my mistakes, to remind me (as though I need reminding) how completely I belong to you.

I hear the cane swish through the air and I jump as it makes contact with my flesh. Again and again you swing, until I am in tears and you are satisfied that the stripes on my ass will remind me of this every time I sit down for days.

You put the cane away and come to me, taking me in your arms until the tears stop. You gently kiss my forehead, and let me know that the remainder of my punishment will not take place for at least a couple of days. You want me to feel everything, to experience each separate sensation, so that while we are apart, I will always remember.

You comfort me, stroking my hair and back, taking your time and making me ache for more with every touch. I wrap my arms around you, pulling you closer to me. I slip a hand inside the back of your jeans, touching your skin. You respond by reaching inside my blouse and pulling out one tit, holding and rubbing and pinching the nipple until I start to moan and bury my face in your shoulder. I use my other hand to unzip your pants, reaching inside for you. I start to free you from your pants when you unbutton them and they slide to the floor. Now I can feel you, and I want to taste you so badly that I almost pull away from your fingers. I look into your eyes, and you can read the question in mine. You nod, and I slip to my knees again.

When I am out of sight of the rental agency, I pull over to the side of the road to check my directions one more time. I don't want to get lost after having wasted so much time with the silly rental people. I've never had to sign so many documents outside of a real estate closing in my life.

I debate taking the time to put the top down, and decide there will be other opportunities to drive around like a teenager. Now is the time to get to you. And the sooner the better.

That's the thing about you. Spend a bit of time with you and I just don't seem to want it to end. I've been away from you for far too long, and that's not even considering all the time we were apart before this morning. And I am starting to have difficulty driving because I'm imagining just what you may have in store for me when I get to wherever it is I'm going. The location makes it sound like an office building of some sort, but surely that can't be correct? I guess I'll find out when I get there. If I can keep from stopping by the side of the road and doing something to relieve this need. I don't want to wait to see you, but I am having trouble keeping both hands on the wheel.

I'm going to be with you, touching you, feeling you breathe on my skin. Oh God, I need to feel you inside me again. I put my foot firmly on the gas, determined to get to you faster than the directions say is possible. But they've never seen me when I felt this way.

Finally I pull into the parking lot of the building where I am supposed to be meeting you. And then it happens. A song comes on the radio. The song. I hear the first few bars, and the need to be touching you becomes unbearable. I grab my purse and run, slamming the door behind me. Please be close by.

I can't quite reach the pen. I stretch as much as I can while keeping my behind firmly in the seat, and I still cannot reach it. It is all the way on the far edge of the seat, and just barely beyond the tips of my fingers. So I twist in the seat, bending at the waist and extending my torso along the seat, arm outstretched. I get the stubborn little thing, and as I lean back into the driver's seat, I feel something brush against my back.

I look up and reach for the clipboard I had discarded on the dashboard when I went diving for the pen. As I turn my head toward the dash, I see something moving near the window. Oh yes, he's still out there. For a moment I had forgotten all about my paper-loving friend. I take the paperwork, apply the requested signature, and hand it through the window to the waiting man.

He, in turn, hands me a business card. He has written his name on the back, along with a telephone number, and he tells me that I should ask for him the next time I need a rental.

I thank him, making a mental note never to return to this particular location once I have returned the car, and pull out of the parking spot. As I drive past the building on my way out to the street, I see the girl from the counter. She smiles and waves and then, finally, I am on my way to you.

We walk to the car and he hands me what seems like yet another ream of papers to sign. The trunk is open, and he asks where my luggage has gotten to. I tell him (politely) that I am not carrying my luggage at the moment, and that I appreciate him having the trunk open, but that I won't be needing it for now.

He closes the trunk and comes back around the car. I hand him the papers, and slide into the car. He has had it running, and the air conditioner is doing its job. Oh, that feels good after the heat and humidity.

I pull the door closed, and my skirt up past the tops of my stockings. He taps on the window as I am getting ready to fasten my seat belt, and I open it to hear what he has to say. "One more signature, please."

He hands me the clipboard with all the papers and the pen balanced on top. As I pull them through the window, the pen rolls off the stack of papers and lands on the far side of the passenger seat. I lean over to get it so I can sign the damned papers and be on my way.

As I walk out the door, the hot air hits me like a slap in the face. I can't believe how warm it has gotten in the time I've been playing the paperwork games.

And then I see it - and it is beautiful. Oh, to be able to take that one home with me... but I know it is not to be. A few days, and once again I will be getting on a plane alone. But to drive it in the meantime, well, I'm very happy you wanted me to have a car.

I approach it, admiring the curves of its body, the color, the cozy interior, when my reverie is interrupted by the arrival of the paperwork. Oh, and the man carrying it.

You know how much I enjoy being in your arms, feeling you inside me. And I don't think you mind it at all either, because you indulge my desire as often as you can. Today, you hold me as I bury my face in the spot where your neck and shoulder come together, breathing in your scent, feeling you inside me and your arms so tight around me. We stay like this for a second, or an hour. I can no longer tell how much time has elapsed, I am so caught up in you. The way you smell, the feeling of your breath on my cheek, your arms surrounding me.

But you are, as always, aware of everything that is going on around us, including the passage of time. You lift me off your cock, moving me back to the passenger seat. "We have to get going," you say. "The rental place will be closing soon."

I think about protesting - why would I need a car if we are together? But you want me to have a car, so a car I will have. I may not understand it, but you never require anything of me without a good reason, so I'm not about to start questioning you now.

You drop me off at the agency, keeping the suitcase and my blazer with you in the truck. I am to rent a car, making certain to leave an impression at the rental place, and meet you in an hour. You kiss me on the forehead, hand me my purse and leave.

I walk in to the rental agency and approach the counter. I have a reservation, and I have used this particular rental company before, so it should be smooth sailing. Or so you might think. It is going to be one of those days, I'm afraid.

They don't have the car I reserved, so they are going to upgrade me. Now, the last time I got an upgrade from these people, they gave me a bright red station wagon instead of the nice, quiet blue coupe I requested. Hard to blend in when they hand you the key to the ugliest car on the lot. But I am hoping for something better this time around. I lean over the counter, forgetting that you have been in the same vehicle as my blouse, and that it is therefore unbuttoned most of the way to my navel.

The girl behind the counter can't be much more than twenty-one, and probably wouldn't be allowed to rent one of the cars she is responsible for as part of her job. But she smiles at me, and offers me the car of my dreams... a Mustang convertible. I jump at the offer, and she comes around the counter to give me the key. Haven't had that kind of service before, but who am I to complain? She's very helpful, standing over my shoulder as I fill out the rental agreement, giving me a discount because they didn't have the car I wanted, even though the one I'm getting is a better car. She's a doll. And when they call her to let her know that the car is ready, she shakes my hand, holding it just a moment longer than necessary.

As I walk to the parking lot, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and feel my face start to burn. Too late to do anything about it now, but in all the excitement of seeing you I had not only neglected to rebutton my blouse, I had forgotten that I was wearing a skirt a girl half my height would have considered short.

I love the velvety texture of your skin against my lips. I move closer, and slide my mouth over the head of your cock. Slowly, appreciating each change of texture, temperature, dimension. As you slip deeper into my mouth, I savor your taste, your scent.

You move your hand from my hip to the steering wheel. I start to move away, because I think I'm distracting you, but you make it clear that you want me to be exactly where I am. You alternate between caressing me and gripping the steering wheel. I raise my head, slowly moving my lips and tongue up to the head of your penis and lick the underside softly. You grasp the steering wheel with one hand and clutch my hip with the other.

I then lift my mouth completely away from you and gently rub you against my cheek, You are so warm and firm, soft and strong. I never want to stop feeling you. You feel wonderful against the skin of my cheek, and I rub you as I hold you there. I turn my head and kiss and lick and stroke you while we drive.

At some point, I begin to understand that we have been driving far too long to be going directly to the car rental place. But I certainly don't mind. Extra time close to you is never going to be unwelcome. I love feeling you on my face, running my fingers over your skin. You feel so wonderful. Your skin so smooth and soft, your scent so familiar, your taste indescribable.

You turn off the road and stop. I slide an arm around your back and pull you as close to me as the seatbelt will allow. I feel you moving, and hear you release your seatbelt. You put your arms around me and lift my head. I look at you, and you gently encourage me onto your lap.

You hold me, positioned just above you. You allow the head of your cock to barely touch me, teasing me. You feel so wonderful, and I have been waiting so long. You lower me just a bit, enough to slip the head of your cock inside. You hold me close, and whisper into my ear. Your words are enough to push me over the edge, and I cum, gripping the head of your cock with my cunt.

You push in farther, filling me more, exciting me more. And then you whisper it again. God, how wonderful it is. I have never felt anything so good. And then, then you fill me. You lower me all the way onto you, holding me so close I never want to move again.

You remove my arms from around your neck, maneuvering me into a position where you are buried deep inside me, and yet our torsos are far enough apart that I can see your face.

You look me straight in the eye, and finally say aloud what until now you've only whispered, what we have both known and wanted all along, "Mine."

You pull me close again, and I feel you cum deep inside me as I whisper in your ear, "Always."

3 January 2005

What an adventure this weekend turned out to be.

Clearlake and Ukiah are not the most interesting places in the world, so I had plenty of time to dream up an interesting ending to the first portion of the new story. I think you will like it. Certainly kept me sane, while waiting for the tow truck out there in the middle of nowhere.

And knowing you were with me this morning at the usual time kept me from pulling my hair out over the fact that there are places in California that roll up the sidewalks at seven o'clock Sunday evenings, and where you cannot rent a car on Sunday at all.

Helped me be appreciative of the nice gentleman who fixed the car for me right away too.

I'll fill you in on all the details later, if you like.

So glad I knew you were thinking of me.

You adjust your position in the seat, giving me easier access to the button and the zipper. I open your pants, reach inside and free you from what has become a very restrictive spot.

I glance up at your face, and you stroke my hair. I smile, and go back to kissing you. Your skin is so soft, and you feel so warm and smooth on my lips. You smell so good.

I need to taste you, to feel your skin against my tongue. To take you inside me. I start near the zipper, running my tongue the length of your shaft, tasting you. Loving the way you respond. I reach the top, and can't keep from kissing you again and again, licking around the head, feeling the weight of you on my lips, sucking just the tip inside.

Resolutions

In 2005 I will be:

Healthier
Happier
Free
More patient
Less insecure
More adventurous
and, as always,
Yours.

Happy New Year!



Kiss

Hope you have a wonderful year.