The Beach House

It's 3AM in the morning of the third day we've been together. I am on the second floor deck of the beach house, wrapped in the soft flannel bedspread I dragged off the bed as I awakened a half hour ago, comfortably nestled down in the lone chaise lounge, listening to the surf and the wind. The bedspread's the only thing from the bed other than the sheet in which I left you wrapped that appears to still be mercifully dry, as one of us either had the good sense to move it before it became another wet casualty of our lovemaking, or the lucky outstretching of a limb pushed it onto the floor and out of harm's way sometime during the past two days. I really don't remember. The amount of sweat and juices that we've left on the playground the bedroom had become is significant; we promised ourselves earlier today that we would call the maid service in the morning to clean up the carnage.

We had talked about meeting for months. It never happened because life did, in its place. What did John Lennon say? Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans? Or something like that. But somehow the opportunity presented itself just a few days ago, and when it did, we almost dangerously dropped what we were doing, making quick and sketchy plans to deal with those around us, and made our way to this lovely place that we both knew about separately, but were now making our own.

You never know how that first interaction will be, but after starting out almost tentatively, we quickly escalated. Escalated to what? I'm still trying to understand that. All I know is that we've not been out of physical contact in private except, as in ice dancing, to change positions, and only briefly in public when it was necessary to find food so the beach house's owner - a good friend - wouldn't find skeletons coupled together in the bedroom at some future date. Even then, there was an almost constant touch of a hand to a hand or to a shoulder or a neck; the latter bringing a shiver and a shrug meant to engulf the finger or hand that was placed there, not in the least to show indifference.

I have, in the short time we've been together, with your help and direction, learned your body well enough to know when and where to touch, and how. It was a long way from our email and telephone conversations where we talked endlessly about what excites you to where we are now. And I thought I knew you before we met. I could spend the next hundred years learning the nuances of the effect of touch on you - pushing you to that edge of excitement but not release that we had discovered only earlier today. And I would spend that time gladly.

I hear the sliding door open, and you walk out on the deck wrapped in that lone dry sheet. You're in shadow, but I can see your dark hair in contrast with the sheet. The sheet opened as you walked toward the railing in front of me; your newly shaved pubis the same shadowy gray in the dim light of the moon as your uncovered belly and legs. I smile as I remember the look you gave me as I knelt between your legs with a razor in my hand and a grin on my face two days before; you not sure whether to trust me but wanting to experience what I wanted to give you.

As you stand on the deck, eyes closed, head back smelling the sea, I open the warm comforter, and beckon you near me once again. You drop the sheet on the deck floor and turned to me, your nipples the only dark shadows on your body except for your hair swirling around your face from the breeze. It's not cold; but there is a chill.

You walk over to me, touch my cheek with your hand as you stoop down to kiss me. I can now see your face, beaming, a thin glint of your teeth in your hint of a smiles. I pat the space between my legs, and you turn to it in front of me, and sat down between mine, facing the water. As you lean back, I engulf you with the soft flannel as you lean back; your back and ass sliding against my chest and crotch, my soft cock, still crusted from our earlier play with some manner of our juices dried on me, against your spine. You rest your forearms and elbows on my arms, and I reach around you to hold a breast with one hand, your belly with the other, my chin and lips at your neck.

We sit there, warming each other, not a whisper nor a word between us, only a glance first at the lights out on the water from the fishing boats, then at each other; your dark eyes flashing even in the low light. Occasionally there is a touch worth the thousand words of a picture. The air has a salt-water chill to it, but we're encased except for our heads peeking out of the flannel; your long hair laying across my neck and shoulder so I can feel your bare neck against me. You smell of love and sweat, and taste of salt and our mixed juices that have found their way to your face and neck as well. It's a moment; a snapshot that will be with me long after we leave, not quite of passion but of contentment that's deep and satisfying.

I rub your breasts and your belly slowly, then move my hands lower and tap your thighs gently. You respond as I have learned that you do to me, opening them slightly, taking my left hand in yours, kissing my fingers, sucking them as you had earlier tasted me, and then putting them between your now damp thighs. I reach down with the tip of my left middle finger, still shriveled from being immersed in you earlier, and insert it gently into you, and feel you suck it in to let me know that you want me there. I open your lips with my right hand, and start to stroke your clit, touching, stopping, touching... there... then stopping and starting; gauging your response by how you contract around my finger. I close my eyes and explore very slowly, and when I notice you gripping me harder, I slow down even more... when you grip less, I quicken the touch and nuzzle your neck to your response.

You quickly rise to the plateau I have found for you in these short two days and watch the smile on your face and the dancing in your eyes as I touch you and play you. You lean your head back, and reach for my neck with your hands, taking my lips on yours, letting me suck your tongue as you suck mine as you strain against the grip I have around your with my arms. I cover your shins with my calves to hold you in place so you can strain against me, too, riding that wave; you bucking against me as I touch, letting up as I slow down.

We are like this for what seems like hours... I am hard once again against your back, and even in the cool air, we are sweating as we move together in this best kind of dance. I think about us on a dance floor, in fact, in a rhythm to our own music, wondering how we would be, clothed, in public; wondering also if we could even be this close to each other in public without being arrested? The thought makes me giggle.

Finally, you look at me, and we both know it is time for me to take you. I release your legs from under my calves, reach down and lift your ass onto my thighs, and move you up along my belly so I can enter you from underneath. You put your legs on the deck and lean forward, holding yourself above me, and I go in deep, with your back a curve in front of me, your hands holding the arms of the chair, straining, balancing over me. I bend your neck forward reaching underneath your mane to grab the softer hair on your neck and gently pull it as I feel you grip me tight inside you once more. The rhythm we create is at first awkward as you find your center above me, but soon you've adjusted your motion so that I am at a wonderful angle inside you, and you move your body up and down, your arms pumping, your hands gripping the arms of the chaise as you drive me even more deeply into you; a soft guttural purr coming from you as you move.

I feel you moving faster, yet more deliberate. There's a tightness in your vagina as you raise up as far as you dare without losing me, and slam down with a wail, and grind into my crotch as you twist, trying to take all of me inside you as your orgasm hits. We explode together, my cock throbbing in your pussy and your body straining back against the pressure from my hand on your hair. As our contractions subside, you stop completely, arms shaking but holding you forward as you come down from where you've been, and then you lift yourself off me, and sit forward on my thighs, head down on my shines, your breath slowing down. I stroke your back and ass, then cup your cheeks and squeeze. I feel the dampness trickling onto my thighs as I open your cheeks while stroking you. There's a lot there.

Slowly, you sit up, stretching your arms to the sky, blotting out the horizon with your body, hair flowing. I sit up, put my arms around you, kissing your neck, and pull you back toward me. You slide back to where we started this dance as I drop the chaise down slightly, and you turn toward me, lie on my shoulder under the covers and we sleep and touch and smile as the pale colors of the dawn start over the waves.