© Sauce*Box, Spring 2001, All rights revert to author.
Material may not be reused without author's explicit permission.
Material may not be reused without author's explicit permission.
Let Me Touch You
by John E.
ET ME TOUCH you. Even through my fingertips your voluptuousness travels. Moves through the give and take of your flesh against the pressure and release of my hands. Sings through its softness, whispers in warmth. The curve of your shoulder, the small of your back--please don't keep these from me. Just the tips of my fingers, the palms of my hands. Let's pretend that we don't know each other. Make believe we're not sure of the way. Guide me through the summit and depth of each of your breaths, wind the road with their variations. Warn me of the barren flats, and inebriate me to speed on to each vista unfolding. Tunnel me in. Your breasts are heaving, signs of delight on this ride to infinite closure. Even through my fingertips what has caused these taut nipples, burning cheeks, slowly closing eyes and miraculous moans can be felt. Still a desire that can be summoned, always a chance to be welcomed. We're not sure of the way and its variations, lost in the give and take of each breath, though your fingers travel confidently and close. Touching forehead, brushing eyebrows, pressing harder as you slide down to my chest, as my fingers trail down to your belly, as you circle each of my own nipples and I leave my hand upon your middle. We both think HOT, I know we both think this, both at the same time, both looking for the next word. Let's pretend we don't know this word, trailing fingers from the summit to the depths of our mortal perfections, down to thighs inviting, opening, always that chance to be welcomed. The strength of my desire you touch now, my bold hand drops down and in between and is full of your secret path, fingers like vines entwined within the foliage, tips barely touching underneath. Touching you. Speed on to each new vista unfolding. Fingertips along the hard curve, part of a flexing, then take that curve fast, not fingertips only, not breath alone--the desire to hold tighter, and squeeze. Let me touch you too, entering inside, guided, welcomed, lips no longer alone, sadly waiting through pale memories for the vibrancy of skin, hands disappear, memory fading quicker now, slowly closing eyes to each other, opening sight to this union. Skin to skin. Against. Away. Tightly clasped and a kiss, scented in skin. I will go no quicker. You will remember this summit in the searing sun and the fluid depths of a slow day turned dark. Let me fuck you. Skin to skin. Tunnel me in.
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