Sleeping Sixty-Nine
by Jonathan Quince
Friday, March 25, 2005 08:08:14
Sleep found me, last night, in visions of your embrace. Legs wrapped, arms holding, mouths kissing lips and heads, we drifted off together into dreams of juxtaposed lustful intimacy.
Alone do I sleep, as usual habit; I am quite touchy in that right. But when the mood finds me for rare restful company, I am passionate in every way of carnal closeness. I want to hold every part of you, from toe to finger and mound to eye; and of myriad means for hypnagogic cuddling, one that stands out in my desires is the face-and-face nether greeting, full frontal contact with a twist of sexual tastes.
My love of the cunt is so great, I cannot resist the thought of yours pressed to my face. It is your southern visage, unique as your features and lovely as your form in ev’ry part. I long to nuzzle it, to kiss it, to immerse myself in its aura as, thighs wrapped tight about my head, you thrust and grind it into me. Its very presence intoxicates me, by scent on my lips and taste on my tongue and sight, silv’ry stark, in the shadows of moonlight; mark me now with your sweetness from my forehead to my chin, that honeyed so, imbibing of your mead, I may be dizzy with ambrosias.
Even as you grind yourself to my face, the rest of my body is alive with sensations. The lithe swell of your hips turning down to the smoothness of your legs—the play of muscles in your thighs as you grip my head there-between in a fleshly vice—the smooth warmth of your stomach, pressed to my chest—the rounded softness of your breasts against my abdomen, punctuated by twin points of hard demand—and the twisting and nodding of your head between my legs as, my thighs holding you tight, you become busy as I.
My hands are everywhere upon you, and your body is everywhere upon me. As I make out with your other lips and you kiss me on my-below, it strikes me that this situation is not conducive to sleep. But orgasm is not our goal now; we have had such many times in the hours shortly passed, and as we arouse ourselves to sleep, more shall we have upon waking in readiness. This mutual tease becomes surreal in dreamlike relaxing; wavelets of pleasure lap soothingly over us as we snuggle together; and in such enjoyment of each other, we dally and drift now toward sleep’s slow embrace over ours.
The scent on my lips and the fire ’twixt my legs are the last sensations of my consciousness before I slide, dream-to-dream, from one vision to another.