Sep 232011

I’m crying. I’m in bed. I feel miserable, physically sick and emotionally bereft. I’m tired. There’s nothing left. But he’s here with me. He talks softly to me. I can feel the warmth of his body. I’m not alone, no matter how I feel. He’s with me.

His fingers brush along my arm. My skin pays attention, but I’m still head down in misery. He keeps running his fingers softly down my bare arm, from shoulder to elbow. Sometimes he touches my hair or face, but mostly my arm. He is still being comforting, supportive, but the energy has changed.

Suddenly I begin to laugh. Noticing the shift in energy has broken me out of my funk. He wants me. I can feel his desire in that one gentle line of his finger from shoulder to elbow. It thrills me. It awakens my desire. His touch communicates love, caring, and sexual arousal.

It’s not that he’s ready to fuck – he’s naked, I can see that he’s not hard. His interest is not sticky or inappropriate for the situation. He’s present with me while I’m struggling. And while I had trouble feeling him before, this electric graze of skin against skin lets me be with him again. If he wants me, then all is right with the world. I want him too. And why cry when we could make love?

I let myself respond to his touch. I rock my body back against his, back arched. I open up my sadness and anger and sink into now, this moment, where I am with my lover and we are letting the desire build between us. I feel very deeply connected. I breath with his touch, gasping when his fingers seem to accidentally graze my nipple. I give back, running my fingertips along his belly and thighs. I try to make him gasp.

I love that his love for me includes the sexual attraction. I’m grateful to be loved this way. Now he is openly tweaking my nipple. I writhe with longing and feel my cunt get wet. My fingers get closer and closer to his cock. When I get there, he is mostly hard already. My fingers explore his length. I rub and squeeze. His breath comes faster against my hair.

I want to see him, kiss him. He climbs on top of me. We are a tangle of limbs and blankets as he figures out how to go down on me. Then he is back and sliding into me. All is unbearable sweetness. The sadness I feel is translated into this love. This need to be deep inside each other. I touch his chest and kiss his mouth. He presses into me. It feels amazing. I can’t help moving to meet him, finding the place where it feels the best. I adore the soft nest of the bed. I am covered by his body. I want to stay here forever.

Of course, we keep moving, slow and sensual. I run my fingers across his back. I clutch at his shoulders as I thrust my hips up. He thrusts into me and he is coming. I have a few twinges of orgasm myself, but not enough. I squeeze my hand between us, but keep him inside me. I rub at my clit for a minute or two. I am very close because soon the waves of my orgasm push his cock out of me.

Power of touchOur lovemaking is so intense. I feel full of sweet, warm, golden light. It’s a light that encompasses us both. All of the emotion that I was feeling before is still there, but it’s been transformed by our love. I feel rooted instead of lost. How amazing, the power of a simple touch to bring me out of a trapped place into golden love.

  • Hardin Reddy

    Love and sex are a continuum, and it is so fulfilling when two people flow freely within it.