Lying here on the floor in front of the fire, I delight in how content and truly happy I am. The crisp, clear fall weather, just cool enough for the fire, helps heighten my own thoughts. Our mountain retreat - how wise of you to decide we needed this special place. Through the windows, I can see the small mountain lake, the moonbeams dancing on the waters. The firelight creating a warm glow in room. Peace. Serenity. Utopia. You, sitting in that large, leather chair - your chair - just a few feet away. Strange. The seclusion of the cabin offers us such solitude - and yet we are together. You are the only person I have ever known with whom I can be alone while with you. With each other we have privacy but yet companionship. The soft music of Chopin wafts through the room. I can barely hear your pen scratching on the paper as you write. How I enjoy watching you write. Your face mimics each word. Sometimes I wonder if you realize just how much you convey when you write. The expressions on your face tell the story -- the small frown when the line is not just right; the soft smile when suddenly all the words just appear on the paper. You glance up, and catch me watching you. Oh. When you smile at me that way! How I wish you could know the stirrings you create. I smile back, and pretend to get interested in my book again. Your poem is not complete. The time is not now for my desires to take form. Later. Meanwhile, the fire can warm me as my senses just contemplate our loving. And we will. Later. When the last word is written. When you have chosen to share your poem with me. Even that has become almost a form of fore-play between us. I become aware that I have turned many pages. What were the words on those pages? Do I care? My eyes were seeing, but my mind was not reading. Instead, it was dwelling on you. How satisfied I am with you; with us; with myself. With you, I never fear. We have been together long enough now to know each other. Our flaws are exposed to the other, but we accept what we have found in the other, the good, the not-so-good; the perfections, the imperfections. From you I need hide nothing. You accept the woman you find. That sense of freedom being an aphrodisiac to me. My mind strays. Remembering the years that have gone before this moment. Pain. Sadness. Some spots of joy. You know what the memories are. But rather than trying to make me forget, you have encouraged the memories - embraced them even. Reminding me that whatever is there is part of what has made me what I am today. Since you love the woman I am now, the memories that helped form that being are good also. And, I think of you. You also brought a past to our new love. Comprehension. As you have learned to love me and the memories, so have I you. Whatever helped make you into the man you are tonight must have been good, because the man you are now is so special and warm. The flooding of sensations through my body reminds me just how much I delight in you. Longing. Now my body craves to give physical meaning to the love I feel. I want you. I want to be in your arms. My skin yearns for your touch. The look on your face is well known to me - it is the one when you have finally found the words of your poem. Now it is just a matter of letting them flow to the pen and take life on the page. I rise and go to take a shower. Nothing helps pass the time more than the cascading water. Lathering my body it awakens even more. Knowing you are downstairs. Knowing the pleasures. Wanting. My hands stroke my body. The soft bubbles of soap creating a sheen. I wonder if you ever realized that showering, even alone, is often a form of lovemaking with you. In my mind, it is not my hands, but yours. The moisture not water, but passion. The soap not cleanser but lubrication of full desires. Finally, toweling off, I ponder. How far along are you to your latest sonnet? Are you finished? Have I delayed too long? I want to hurry - but I want more to come down to you perfect in every way. A light dusting of my favorite scent, I don the lavender chiffon nightie. It is short. Hanging just inches below my hips. Hiding, yet not hiding. The soft satin underlays conceal -almost- my nipples. Their tautness pushes against the satin and their form is there to see. The creamy breasts peek over the top. I pile my hair carefully atop my head (though that will not last long). I glance at the lacey panties that were meant to be worn with the gown. Thinking. Hestitating. I pick them up. I drop them. Putting them on. No. Removing them. No. Finally donning them again, I descend to the kitchen. Your favorite wine has been hidden in the back of the refrigerator. Chilling for just such a night as this. I take down two crystal wine glasses from the set we save for special company. Are we not very special ourselves? Are you not worth the finest that I can offer? Quickly rinsing the glasses and placing them in the freezer for a light frost - not too much, it dilutes the wine - just so the frost is there on the glass. I slice the cheese and carefully arrange it. Preparing as though we were entertaining the most important person. But then. I am. I want to serve you and you are the most important person in my universe. I carry the tray into the den. You are still sitting in chair but now your gaze is one of reflection as you read the words again. I know. You have now read it numerous times. Searching for the places it does not meet your approval. Checking. Re-checking. You glance up. That soft smile melts me. Then your eyes change as you register my appearance. No, Darling. I no longer am wearing the sweatshirt and slacks. Yes. I am dressed for loving. At first I was going to bring the tray to your chair. But then thinking more, no. You are finished writing now. Now is -our- time. Now is for the special foreplay that arouses me so intensly. I kneel by the fire, carefully setting the tray on the glossy maple floor. I lie down. Putting the book aside that I had been reading, I lie on the pillow. It pushes my breasts upwards more. I need not ask you. You rise to come join me. How I love that smoking jacket. Ahhh. If more men realized that dressing sensually is not just for women. Knowing you are naked under it certainly adds to my body's excitement. As you lie next to me I yearn to caress you. But it is not time. Not yet. Smiling. So eager I am. Yet, you seem to tease. How many poems have you written? How many times have we begun our passions this way? It does not matter. Each time is as wonderful as the first and yet, because it is known, more glorious than the times before. Now is the time you choose to share. I delight in being the first to hear the newest creation. I wonder. Do you know that I listen this first time with my soul? Later we can edit for form and technique. But this first time, it is listening from within. This writing is as much you as your body. It is moreso. From its lines, you share a part of your mind. From the words, you tell your heart. As you begin to read (recite?), I follow the feelings. Desires rise. Your voice fills me. I am wrapped in the wonders of being a woman. How wonderful it is being like this. With you. When you finish you look at me for the first time. Sometimes I think you judge your success by how excited I am physically. You can be writing about blacktopping a highway, but at this moment it is as sensual as the most poignant love story. And, it has much the same affect. Sipping your wine; I watch your eyes now fully concentrate on me. You gaze first at my face. Studying each feature as though seeing me for the first time now. The firelight reflecting in my eyes. Finally! You set the glass down and lower yourself to me. Your mouth covering mine. The kiss begins so tenderly. First, just your mouth on mine. Then, your tongue sliding over my lips. Now probing. My mouth opens. My tongue meets yours. Licks. I slowly suck you into my mouth. Our tongues doing a slow waltz. Your arms wrap around me and draw me closer to you. My arms pulling you closer to me. Time slows. Your hands are slowly sliding the gown off my shoulders. You kiss my neck. Feeling your lips nibbling on my neck sends shudders through me. The swirling in my groin responds. Sometimes I think you can carry me to climax without ever moving further into our lovemaking. I slide my hands under your smoking jacket. Feeling the strength of your bare shoulders. Fondling you. The prolonged desires becoming almost intolerable. How I want to make love to you to feel you in my body. Arousing. Stimulating. Carrying me to the outermost limits of total euphoria. Your hands slowly push the the fabric away as your lips blaze a trail of lust down my neckline. My hands are busy undoing your sash - removing the jacket. My gaze delightly in the sight of your strong, masculine chest - and more. Ah. I am not the only one totally aroused. A smile toys at my lips. Has anyone ever made love before us? Is this our secret surrender. It is a merger of two bodies made to enjoy delights that only loving the person can bring. The physical act simple. Any animal can do it. But lovemaking? That, My Dearest, requires a man such as you. A man who can love with his mind, his heart, and his body. Anything else is purely exercise. I am wrapped in an invisible warmth. I bury my face in the corded muscles of your chest. My lips nibbling the skin. Sucking. Licking. You move slightly so you can continue to kiss my lower neck. You hands now enfolding my large breasts as you have removed the gown. The nipples pointing to the heavens where my sensations are carrying me. Your lips seize a nipple with tantalizing possessiveness. It springs into your mouth. Your tongue slides over the ridges, your mouth sucking it in. Your other hand fondles the large glove, its pink nipple marble hard. Your free hand slides along my silken belly. Tingling sensations left in its wake. I seek your swollen member and grasp it. No timidity. Desire. I want to feel it with my hand. Feel the surges. Feel the firmness. In feeling, my senses reel as though short-circuited. Moisture is seeping out of me. I tremble under your touch and the sensations of touching you. My fingers find the small groove on the underside of your manhood. I massage it. Up. Down. Slowly. Ever so slowly. Your hand has moved to my thatch of dark hair. Your fingers parting a way through. Creeping silently to the slit. Sliding deftly into it. You find the knob. Hard. Round. A woman's erection. Shivers of delight make my body quiver under your touch. You suck the nipple; roll the knob under the ball of your finger. Each movement driving me further and further into a frenzy of sensations. Darling. Dearest. Moans escape my lips. My body presses towards you. In accepting your passionate attentions, I give to you pleasures of allowing you to be the masterful man you are. A lover. A friend. A man like no other. You have the power and the skill to stimulate each nerve in my body. To awaken all the primordial urges that society seems to wish did not exist. But, under your mastery, you can give them form. Being. Existence. And, in giving, you receive. You take my passion and it fuels yours. Yours, returns to mine in a flood of raw energy that further ignites my own passions. Together, we can soar through cloudless skies borne on wings of a energy that only our bodies can create. Your finger slides down the slit further - pushing up. Up into my body. The torrents of liquid soaking you. My hips matching your pushes. Cries. Whimpers. My fingers feel the drops of your fluid which are escaping. I hear your breathing ... heavy now. You muffle a groan in my breast. Now. Now is the time for which we have waited. Now. Our bodies are ready. Our souls are ready. Our love is a rhapsody. Now. I want you in me. In me as deeply as possible. I want to feel every inch of your cock deep inside my body. I roll. Quickly positioning myself before you on my knees. Spreading my legs to allow you the most access. The whiteness mounds of my ass given a golden tinge by the firelight. You move your hand to continue to caress my clit from between my legs as you rise and position yourself behind me. I reach back. Guiding you. Taking your pulsating cock, I position it at the opening, the juices squeezing out, onto you. You thrust. Hard. Plunging yourself in all the way in one firm movement. My cry of delight fills the room. Movement stops. My cunt muscles encircle you. Clutching. Vibrating against your member. Tightly wrapping it in a wet embrace. Passion pounds the blood through my body. Burning within. A dizziness sweeps across me. I move back towards you. You withdraw. Thrusting in again. Harder and faster than before. We fall into a rhythm of movements. A choreographer could not have created our motions with more perfection. The tempo increases. Each thrust met by a counter-thrust. Our bodies in exquisite harmony with one another. Our hearts beating. Pounding out the music to the unique maestro of passion. I feel the heat of your body transported through mine by your member plunging in and out. Our cries of delight merge. You release the torrents of fluid to mingle with mine. Thrusting even deeper as your climax surges through you. My own merging. My vaginal muscles now in spasms. The gripping on your member draining it. Taking every drop. What my body can not hold runs between us. United as we are. Time stops. Lying in your arms, secure, satisfied. I turn and gently kiss you. No words are needed. We know. We love. Our giving has been received. Our reception has been given. We are replentished. A deep feeling of peace enfolds us and carries us to dreamland where there is only dreams of love fulfilled.