Your breath washed over my sensitive skin, washed away my reservations.
We had only talked before, for years, and agreed to go hiking. We met in the middle, went in for a hotel room together to save money, two separate beds. It was a long day of hiking, exhaustion but appreciation for the other's company. We both looked ragged and dirty and sweaty, I certainly didn't look beautiful or put together. A quick shower, a quick dinner, and then back to the hotel.
Drinking with the sleeping sun, joking as close friends do, settling down and laying side by side as we talked. I had no thoughts of you sexually; you were incrediby handsome and I was very attracted, but we had just gotten out of long, very serious relationships. We were both hurt, we both didn't want to get involved. And you were out of my league: younger, more active, innocent, nice, far away and the possibility to vanish at any moment.
You leaned in close, swept my hair aside, and just breathed. My neck betrayed the erotic pulse beat beneath the exposed skin. Bold suddenly, unlike yourself, you leaned in and lips grazed the pulse, tongue gently, tentatively dipped and tasted. My ears tuned into your breathing, blocked out all other noise, and all my nerve endings came from where you kissed.
The fact that you felt compelled to make any move at all, especially the first move, surprised us both. I was out of your league: older, jaded, educated, coasting with a great career, settled, a sexual experience you looked down upon once. I had told you over the phone, weeks in advance to this plan, that it wouldn't go anywhere, to have no expectations of intimacy. Suddenly you were eager for the experience, or the woman that you've grown to know beyond your own previous judgments.
I moaned and leaned into your mouth, let it melt and meld my inhibitions. One night, I thought, surely I can have one night just in your arms. But even so, I didn't want to hurt you. You, with your inexperience, would get emotionally attached. I refused to become emotionally invested beyond friendship, and perhaps fuck buddy for one night suddenly. I was hurt so badly before - I wanted nothing of that kind; so a boundary was in order.
Maybe it was the liquid stupidity talking, but I muttered how my pajama bottoms were not coming off, no matter what, and you agreed, or tried to before I moved and pressed my lips to yours, silencing your innocence and my hesitation. My tongue became the agressor, plundered in your mouth, drank your resilience. My hands pulled you in, my legs wrapped around, closing any division between us. You seemed surprised, uncertain how to proceed, frozen but so hot.
My goodness you were sexy, your inculpable barrier no longer a divide. Your fingers tentatively wandered, as my lips began to move lower to your neck. You still seemed confused on what to do, what was acceptable to touch, but I was unaware of your shortcomings, only knowing that I had given myself permission to cave into my passion - to a point. How I blundered and confused a sexual limit with not being hurt was a muddled, ridiculous thought. I just knew that you were inexperienced by choice.
...And by the time I was aware of your voyaging, it was because of what you were doing to me, focused to propel an action that you hadn't before, astonishing us both with the passionate responses and actively choosing to test our boundaries: mine - a physical limit, yours - an internal battle of limitations. You pursued suddenly. You had taken my lead, a quick trainee, and run with it in a direction that was intoxicating and no longer allowed thoughts...or barriers.
It was torturous, deprived, ardent hours of arousal, and my chastity belt of those damnable pj bottoms was drenched with my needy wanton desires, your erection so hard that the thin layer of clothing hardly felt there at times...until it wasn't. But that is a story for another time, this was the reflection of our transgressions, breaking confining walls and ideas, reaching out for the unattainable, and wicked wanderings.
Come see who else is wicked with me.
Btw, a picture of my "chastity belt". I can think of the pj bottoms no other way.
Oh how often we women set the lines unable to hold them. I love this truth and moment in time when your want was so desperate you allowed your walls to drop among other things.ReplyDelete
Thank you for your lovely reply. Glad to have your contribution as well.Delete
Sometimes all that other stuff just doesn't matter... and passion can be just another expression that doesn't lead to something more permanent.ReplyDelete
Passion is indeed another expression, how eloquently put.Delete
This is a very passionate piece. There is something hot about the thought of hours of heavy petting without releaseReplyDelete
The idea is hot, the practice hellish. I don't think I'd want another night of such a build up and denial.Delete
Call me spoiled, I'm used to getting what I want. But I had set the silly limit...
I'll never look at PJ bottoms quite the same.ReplyDelete
Grateful for the change in perspective.Delete
Passion sometimes takes over and then you just have to go with it ;)ReplyDelete
Grateful for the prompts you provide that Inspire the memories that create storiesDelete
i love the "pajamas as chastity belt" idea. Levis 501 played the same role all through high school. i can still remember the first time I made a girl soak herself all the way through. Denim never felt so sweet.ReplyDelete
Ah, Levi's. the most uncomfortable chafing when aroused and wet. It soaks up desire and keeps the reminding dampness for hours.ReplyDelete
Ah, the pajamas as chastity belt. Reminds me of a talk my Mother once gave to me when I started dating. She said, "I don't care how many boyfriends you have or what you do as long as your pants stay up." Yes, my very first sex talk. Lol... Needless to say, I became quite fond of skirts and dresses. ;)ReplyDelete
That is so very hot, denim has the same memories for me......ReplyDelete