He took his time. He was in no hurry. It felt like we had more than all night, but all the next day and each day that followed. His lips seemed to explore every pore on my skin, soft as silk, attentive and slightly wet. He stood behind me, breathing slowly on the back of my neck, hands gently wrapped around my hands, which were holding the ropes of the swings. His body pushed into mine, causing the swing to make subtle back and forth squeaking noises. Placing gentle lips on the nape of my neck, he kissed me to the rhythm of the squeaks.
What am I doing? I gave myself a quick mental lecture about our ten-year age difference. This can't work, and I really shouldn't lead this boy on. After a whole year of loneliness, the attention was just so nice. And his lips felt good. And his hands were beginning to...
The swing in my back yard was always my place to collect my thoughts, and—when I was really about my business—put said thoughts on paper. Bringing Drew here was significant, because it was my private place, and I had brought no man here before him. But I didn't think of him as a "man." To me, he was a young friend, with whom I shared thoughts and dreams things I wrote that no one else had heard.
We had met at the coffee shop months before. We were both writing in our notebooks, sitting in comfy chairs, glancing at one another from time to time. It was cold and snowy outside, and I warmed myself up with hot chocolate. We made small talk, shared our interests in the arts, and
said our good-byes.
We ran into each other a few more times, always stopping for a few minutes to talk. Every time he became more evident that he was someone I'd like to know.
Something about him made me want to open up. He hung on my every word like I was giving him a secret formula that could save his life. He looked at me with intense eyes, and I tried to pretend that they didn't make me want to let my knees give out and drop to the floor.
With each conversation, I learned more about him, and he revealed, more and more, that he was just what I had asked for in my prayers. I had manifested him, my thoughts, my dreams, my poems all described him down to the very last detail, and once again I was amazed at how Spirit works.
...........................
I had been ignoring his innocent advances all day; the soft caresses up and down my arm while we watched the concert, the intense eye contact, and the sweet smile that now gives me butterflies each time he flashes it.
My instincts told me to stop this before it started, but once his lips made contact with my skin, I knew it was what I wanted. What I needed. His gentleness had won me over, and his sweetness made me nervous in a way that wasn't familiar.
A few soft kisses on the back of my neck, and then he slowly walked around to face me. He looked at me, and smiled. I returned the smile, and our eyes pulled each other in until our lips were touching. He kissed me with intent. He was calm and caring and confident.
Butterflies fluttered throughout my inner being, and a sense of relief overwhelmed me. I didn't know what would happen in the future, and I didn't want to know. I wanted the moment to last. I wanted to live it, to bottle it up and let it age like fine wine.
And it matured into something lovely and and refreshing and delicious .
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Giving In: A First Kiss Story
He took his time. He was in no hurry. It felt like we had more than all night, but all the next day and each day that followed. His lips seemed to explore every pore on my skin, soft as silk, attentive and slightly wet. He stood behind me, breathing slowly on the back of my neck, hands gently wrapped around my hands, which were holding the ropes of the swings. His body pushed into mine, causing the swing to make subtle back and forth squeaking noises. Placing gentle lips on the nape of my neck, he kissed me to the rhythm of the squeaks.
What am I doing? I gave myself a quick mental lecture about our ten-year age difference. This can't work, and I really shouldn't lead this boy on. After a whole year of loneliness, the attention was just so nice. And his lips felt good. And his hands were beginning to...
The swing in my back yard was always my place to collect my thoughts, and—when I was really about my business—put said thoughts on paper. Bringing Drew here was significant, because it was my private place, and I had brought no man here before him. But I didn't think of him as a "man." To me, he was a young friend, with whom I shared thoughts and dreams things I wrote that no one else had heard.
We had met at the coffee shop months before. We were both writing in our notebooks, sitting in comfy chairs, glancing at one another from time to time. It was cold and snowy outside, and I warmed myself up with hot chocolate. We made small talk, shared our interests in the arts, and
said our good-byes.
We ran into each other a few more times, always stopping for a few minutes to talk. Every time he became more evident that he was someone I'd like to know.
Something about him made me want to open up. He hung on my every word like I was giving him a secret formula that could save his life. He looked at me with intense eyes, and I tried to pretend that they didn't make me want to let my knees give out and drop to the floor.
With each conversation, I learned more about him, and he revealed, more and more, that he was just what I had asked for in my prayers. I had manifested him, my thoughts, my dreams, my poems all described him down to the very last detail, and once again I was amazed at how Spirit works.
...........................
I had been ignoring his innocent advances all day; the soft caresses up and down my arm while we watched the concert, the intense eye contact, and the sweet smile that now gives me butterflies each time he flashes it.
My instincts told me to stop this before it started, but once his lips made contact with my skin, I knew it was what I wanted. What I needed. His gentleness had won me over, and his sweetness made me nervous in a way that wasn't familiar.
A few soft kisses on the back of my neck, and then he slowly walked around to face me. He looked at me, and smiled. I returned the smile, and our eyes pulled each other in until our lips were touching. He kissed me with intent. He was calm and caring and confident.
Butterflies fluttered throughout my inner being, and a sense of relief overwhelmed me. I didn't know what would happen in the future, and I didn't want to know. I wanted the moment to last. I wanted to live it, to bottle it up and let it age like fine wine.
And it matured into something lovely and and refreshing and delicious .
What am I doing? I gave myself a quick mental lecture about our ten-year age difference. This can't work, and I really shouldn't lead this boy on. After a whole year of loneliness, the attention was just so nice. And his lips felt good. And his hands were beginning to...
The swing in my back yard was always my place to collect my thoughts, and—when I was really about my business—put said thoughts on paper. Bringing Drew here was significant, because it was my private place, and I had brought no man here before him. But I didn't think of him as a "man." To me, he was a young friend, with whom I shared thoughts and dreams things I wrote that no one else had heard.
We had met at the coffee shop months before. We were both writing in our notebooks, sitting in comfy chairs, glancing at one another from time to time. It was cold and snowy outside, and I warmed myself up with hot chocolate. We made small talk, shared our interests in the arts, and
said our good-byes.
We ran into each other a few more times, always stopping for a few minutes to talk. Every time he became more evident that he was someone I'd like to know.
Something about him made me want to open up. He hung on my every word like I was giving him a secret formula that could save his life. He looked at me with intense eyes, and I tried to pretend that they didn't make me want to let my knees give out and drop to the floor.
With each conversation, I learned more about him, and he revealed, more and more, that he was just what I had asked for in my prayers. I had manifested him, my thoughts, my dreams, my poems all described him down to the very last detail, and once again I was amazed at how Spirit works.
...........................
I had been ignoring his innocent advances all day; the soft caresses up and down my arm while we watched the concert, the intense eye contact, and the sweet smile that now gives me butterflies each time he flashes it.
My instincts told me to stop this before it started, but once his lips made contact with my skin, I knew it was what I wanted. What I needed. His gentleness had won me over, and his sweetness made me nervous in a way that wasn't familiar.
A few soft kisses on the back of my neck, and then he slowly walked around to face me. He looked at me, and smiled. I returned the smile, and our eyes pulled each other in until our lips were touching. He kissed me with intent. He was calm and caring and confident.
Butterflies fluttered throughout my inner being, and a sense of relief overwhelmed me. I didn't know what would happen in the future, and I didn't want to know. I wanted the moment to last. I wanted to live it, to bottle it up and let it age like fine wine.
And it matured into something lovely and and refreshing and delicious .
Giving In
He took his time. He was in no hurry. It felt like we had more than all night, but all the next day and each day that followed. His lips seemed to explore every pore on my skin, soft as silk, attentive and slightly wet. He stood behind me, breathing slowly on the back of my neck, hands gently wrapped around my hands, which were holding the ropes of the swings. His body pushed into mine, causing the swing to make subtle back and forth squeaking noises. Placing gentle lips on the nape of my neck, he kissed me to the rhythm of the squeaks.
What am I doing? I gave myself a quick mental lecture about our ten-year age difference. This can't work, and I really shouldn't lead this boy on. After a whole year of loneliness, the attention was just so nice. And his lips felt good. And his hands were beginning to...
The swing in my back yard was always my place to collect my thoughts, and—when I was really about my business—put said thoughts on paper. Bringing Drew here was significant, because it was my private place, and I had brought no man here before him. But I didn't think of him as a "man." To me, he was a young friend, with whom I shared thoughts and dreams things I wrote that no one else had heard.
We had met at the coffee shop months before. We were both writing in our notebooks, sitting in comfy chairs, glancing at one another from time to time. It was cold and snowy outside, and I warmed myself up with hot chocolate. We made small talk, shared our interests in the arts, and
said our good-byes.
We ran into each other a few more times, always stopping for a few minutes to talk. Every time he became more evident that he was someone I'd like to know.
Something about him made me want to open up. He hung on my every word like I was giving him a secret formula that could save his life. He looked at me with intense eyes, and I tried to pretend that they didn't make me want to let my knees give out and drop to the floor.
With each conversation, I learned more about him, and he revealed, more and more, that he was just what I had asked for in my prayers. I had manifested him, my thoughts, my dreams, my poems all described him down to the very last detail, and once again I was amazed at how Spirit works.
...........................
I had been ignoring his innocent advances all day; the soft caresses up and down my arm while we watched the concert, the intense eye contact, and the sweet smile that now gives me butterflies each time he flashes it.
My instincts told me to stop this before it started, but once his lips made contact with my skin, I knew it was what I wanted. What I needed. His gentleness had won me over, and his sweetness made me nervous in a way that wasn't familiar.
A few soft kisses on the back of my neck, and then he slowly walked around to face me. He looked at me, and smiled. I returned the smile, and our eyes pulled each other in until our lips were touching. He kissed me with intent. He was calm and caring and confident.
Butterflies fluttered throughout my inner being, and a sense of relief overwhelmed me. I didn't know what would happen in the future, and I didn't want to know. I wanted the moment to last. I wanted to live it, to bottle it up and let it age like fine wine.
And it matured into something lovely and and refreshing and delicious .
He took his time. He was in no hurry. It felt like we had more than all night, but all the next day and each day that followed. His lips seemed to explore every pore on my skin, soft as silk, attentive and slightly wet. He stood behind me, breathing slowly on the back of my neck, hands gently wrapped around my hands, which were holding the ropes of the swings. His body pushed into mine, causing the swing to make subtle back and forth squeaking noises. Placing gentle lips on the nape of my neck, he kissed me to the rhythm of the squeaks.
What am I doing? I gave myself a quick mental lecture about our ten-year age difference. This can't work, and I really shouldn't lead this boy on. After a whole year of loneliness, the attention was just so nice. And his lips felt good. And his hands were beginning to...
The swing in my back yard was always my place to collect my thoughts, and—when I was really about my business—put said thoughts on paper. Bringing Drew here was significant, because it was my private place, and I had brought no man here before him. But I didn't think of him as a "man." To me, he was a young friend, with whom I shared thoughts and dreams things I wrote that no one else had heard.
We had met at the coffee shop months before. We were both writing in our notebooks, sitting in comfy chairs, glancing at one another from time to time. It was cold and snowy outside, and I warmed myself up with hot chocolate. We made small talk, shared our interests in the arts, and
said our good-byes.
We ran into each other a few more times, always stopping for a few minutes to talk. Every time he became more evident that he was someone I'd like to know.
Something about him made me want to open up. He hung on my every word like I was giving him a secret formula that could save his life. He looked at me with intense eyes, and I tried to pretend that they didn't make me want to let my knees give out and drop to the floor.
With each conversation, I learned more about him, and he revealed, more and more, that he was just what I had asked for in my prayers. I had manifested him, my thoughts, my dreams, my poems all described him down to the very last detail, and once again I was amazed at how Spirit works.
...........................
I had been ignoring his innocent advances all day; the soft caresses up and down my arm while we watched the concert, the intense eye contact, and the sweet smile that now gives me butterflies each time he flashes it.
My instincts told me to stop this before it started, but once his lips made contact with my skin, I knew it was what I wanted. What I needed. His gentleness had won me over, and his sweetness made me nervous in a way that wasn't familiar.
A few soft kisses on the back of my neck, and then he slowly walked around to face me. He looked at me, and smiled. I returned the smile, and our eyes pulled each other in until our lips were touching. He kissed me with intent. He was calm and caring and confident.
Butterflies fluttered throughout my inner being, and a sense of relief overwhelmed me. I didn't know what would happen in the future, and I didn't want to know. I wanted the moment to last. I wanted to live it, to bottle it up and let it age like fine wine.
And it matured into something lovely and and refreshing and delicious .
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