The Shining Ones

A morning breeze brings waking.

The billowing blankets entangle our limbs, a chaos of slumber-strewn strips.  I peel a sweat-soaked sheet from around my bare chest, making a half-hearted attempt to straighten the melee.

I pause, propped on one elbow, watching your lightly highlighted eyelids fluttering ever so slightly.  So peaceful, your sleep; so beautiful, even behind the tangled strands of your hair.  If only your whispering breath could convey some semblance of your dreams.  What would they hint at?

Possibly, you are relaxing beneath a tropical sun, tracing the indigo sea swells from behind mirror-shades.  Your smooth, milk-chocolate skin, a glistening sweetness.

Maybe you dream of the Canines of Gaia; alpine peaks that seemingly stretch to the high summer sun.  Taking-in Nature’s purest breath and holding it a little longer, letting it invade your soul with cleansing crispness.

Perhaps, though, you are reliving the precious nighttime moments preceding your slumber.

We were standing at the threshold of the glass doors overlooking our vast and serene sea-swept landscape.  The moon was half-submerged in the ocean horizon, casting a silver sidewalk across the waves to our little paradise, as if to lead us away.  I remember asking if you wanted to take a walk to wherever that dance of light led to.

We never made it that far, though.

Our bodies were so close we shared the same breath, and the platinum glint that passed between our eyes was a mere hint of the sparks to come.  You reached out and traced the subtle bulges and dimples in my arms, while I palmed fruit-scented oil into the taut flesh of your upper body.  Completing the simple massage, my arms encircled you, bringing our bare chests into heated union.

I indulged in the sweetness of your mouth, tongues in motion, pillow lips caressing.  Your hands slid up and down my back, clinching folds of skin in methodical rhythm.  I let my fingers press tantalizing trails into the raspberry sheen of your back, lingering extra long at the outlines of your shoulder blades and the muscular recesses along your spine.

I’m sure you felt the firmness in my strokes, for you responded more and more frequently with your fingernails digging into the fibrous muscle of my back, dragging them downward with long slow pulls, then erasing the marks with your friction-heated palms.

We managed to move in unison through the doorway to the soft sand on the other side of the patio.  The sand was still fairly warm from the day’s heat, but we chose the blanket - redolent with coconut - still present from your sunbathing earlier.

As we sat, facing each other, legs entwined, our senses were assaulted by the all-together completeness of the scene.  The mixture of raspberry and coconut was dizzyingly innocuous.  I poured mouth-watering kisses upon your skin, promoting an occasional shiver through your body.  My lips softly touched your bare shoulder, then again a few inches away, and again, moving closer to that quiver-inducing curve of your neck, bared to the ocean air.  I held my breath and lingered just above the silky-smooth surface, relishing in your closed-eyes anticipation.  I knew the tingling had already started deep within the base of your spine; I knew it, and I prolonged the moment.  Your lips were parted slightly; your breath, caught in your chest, merely amplified your pounding heart.

And just when you thought you could hold your breath no longer, I attacked, spilling my hot breath across your neck and closing my lips around a portion of its flesh.  Your body recoiled under the sudden flood of sensations, and a rush of air escaped your lips in a whimper.  You wanted more, so I strategically placed a few more of the fire-starters, allowing your body just enough time in between to recover from the previous.

Then I cleared the way for you to lay down and stretch your arms and legs out across the blanket.

The moon had almost cleared the horizon, bathing us in her full glowing glory, and the sea’s undulations whispered their way to shore, where the sand relentlessly hushed each one with a final carbonated slosh.

I took a moment to gaze at your body laid out before me, musing over the peculiar shadows the moon leaves on such wondrous forms.

The massage started at your feet, destroying your tensions with the tips of my pleasure-driving fingers - toe to toe, then sole to sole, I pressed a flowing warmth into your body.  I continued deliberately along your legs, making sure I touched every inch of your steamy skin, and worked every tight knot out of your muscles.  I added the delicate touch of butterfly-kisses in key spots along the way, as ripples of pleasure ran through your body.  Then across your thighs and the ultra-sensitive insides of your legs, massaging, teasing, and sometimes tickling.

Next, the flattened S-curves of your navel, pausing to trace my tongue around the rim of your belly button, then I continued along that shining silken valley of your chest, trailing a tide of tingling heat - my hands kneading and rubbing as I go.

I had no idea where your thoughts were at this point, but by the time I placed my lips upon your mouth, you were nearly savage, furiously clashing with me, writhing ceaselessly beneath me, and raking your nails across my back in one exhilarating sensation.

After a long moment, I lifted my body away from you to move back down your body, but you used the opportunity to take control.  You sat upright, forced me onto my back, and clambered to straddle my thighs,  raising yourself above me with your hands on my chest.

I was allowed  a single thought -

        There, your beauty and your body above me, silhouetted in silver radiance,
        like an ethereal Goddess floating through my dreams -

before I was plunged into a salacious fire, the likes of which Hell could never emulate.

I heard far more than a soft sigh escape your lips this time, and felt far more than a simple shiver convulse your body.  The desire was omnipotent, the fervor uncontrollable.  You gripped my chest and I gripped your thighs as we put the insubstantial swells of the sea to shame, and stirred tsunamis from the deep with our own little earthquakes.

Don L. Waddell, 1997