~ i like my body when it is with your body. ~
It is the back of your bare ribcage, a hair’s breadth from the front of my own as I wrap around you from behind, that tickles first my skin and then my unconscious to a slow sensual wake. Feather-soft brushes of your back against my nipples harden them with each insufflation, and when I press my breasts against you, your spine between them, I feel you shudder with pleasure before you move, leaning your weight back into me.
A glance at the clock’s numbers glowing softly bright against the surrounding dark tells me it is far too early to rise, but my body – whether from last night’s post-sex shared pheromones or too-real dreams imagined in small hours – does not know any better. It is roused. I am aroused. And I intend to have my way with you.
My cheek against your shoulder blade, I flutter my eyelashes close enough to tickle,
Mmmm… Your breathing just changed. I think you like that…
then tilt my chin upward to brush my lips across the base of your neck.
The slow in and out of your lungs circulating air begins a gentle ascent from the measured breaths of sleep to the celerity of just-waking alertness when I trace my fingertips down your spine, and when your inhalation catches on a groan, you reach backward, pulling me tighter into you. I push the whole of my weight against your back in response and roll you forward just enough that I can can cover you like a blanket, reaching around your body to caress your cock between the smooth demand of my palm and the high thread-count softness of the sheets.
The feel of your back against my front, skin-on-skin, so close…
What is it e.e. cummings wrote?
…i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss – I like kissing this and that of you…
And, with you under the weight of me, my hand stroking your cock under the weight of us both, kiss ‘this’ and ‘that’ of you I do.
The crook in your shoulder where your hair touches your neck.
The rounds of your vertebrae, one by one, tracing a line with my lips to the base of your spine.
With butterfly osculations and slow tongue caresses, I work my way down and back up again.
The dimples in your lower back.
The floater rib that slides obstinately in and out of place at inopportune moments.
The sweet spot between your shoulder blades.
The freckles on your neck, remnants from summer’s sunburns.
I can hear your struggle to hold back your release in the urgent whimpers you try to keep at bay; I can feel it in the twitch of your skin under my lips, the rocking motion of your hips, and the leak of pre-cum from your swollen tip that glazes the ends of my fingertips.
…and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh…
I still your questing hips with the presshold of mine, and stop the massaging movements of my hand except for my thumb, circling the wet evidence of your arousal in lazy demand over the head of your cock. I quiet my lips except to pull your earlobe between them and whisper – with cummings’ words again in mind:
“Tell me what you want.”
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new
NOTE: Words in blue excerpted from the poetry of e.e. cummings.