The State of Play
There they sit, warm, heavy, full. So soft and pliant to the touch, so incessantly squeezable.
I love to run my fingertips lightly over them, hearing those soft sighs my touch elicits. I'm fascinated by the way his skin responds to my fingers. Crinkling into a tightness that he must feel, his own flesh pulling him up into his body. Going from soft and smooth to a tougher, hide-like texture full of ridges and bumps.
They respond much as parts of me respond, going from warm and soft, to cool and hard. Shrinking into a mass of nerve endings so hungry for contact. We spend long, long periods of time quietly touching and caressing. Stroking and squeezing. Hands and mouths discovering and mapping each other.
He told me on the phone last night how he loves the touch of my fingertips right there. But I wonder if he realises just how much my fingertips crave him. How I ache to feel that particular part of his beautiful body.
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6 comments:
That was an exquisite piece of writing. I got goosebumps!
Noone has ever had the effect on me, that this man has. Not even close!
Intimate and beautiful.
Those words can be used to describe him FB *S*
I have been away too long. This was indeed beautifully written, and felt.
He is an amazing man. We share an amazing love. We're lucky to have each other and to feel the way we do. I love him. :)
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