4.9
January 6, 2015

All of Her Was Never Enough. {Adult}

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I just couldn’t get enough.

The images of her naked form created echoes in my mind.

I could see every vivid detail, from the light dimples accenting the curves of her lips to the small freckles that helped me draw lines to her waiting nipples. Hungry memories bounced around my starving mind, begging me onward and upward toward the moist oasis of her open soul. I had traced the curves of her hips so often, and drew the roundness of her ass so completely that it became a dream in my sleep.

I had tasted her mouth so often it became the test by which all tastes were compared.

My heart drew a treasure map that I could not help but follow. She was where every dotted line, every sacred hint, every trusted sextant, led.

When I closed my eyes I could feel her bare breasts pressing firmly on my chest as my fingers worked magic through her hair, our tongues wrestling in the glow of a moon in full worship of our love. I felt the full grasp of her womanhood as she took hold of me, and I knew deep down that this embrace would be difficult to end.

So we’d push the boundaries of endurance, forgetting time and space in the throes of our union. When the last note played we’d collapse, swimming in the song of ecstasy, resting for the introduction of the next song,

I’d beg her for more, and she’d always quench my thirst.  

Sometimes she’d tease me with her cup, others she’d fill it so quickly it would spill before I could take a sip. Yet a drop was never wasted, and I never wavered in my desire for the one drink I could never get enough of. None of us was ever wasted; even the parts of her that spilled fed my fertile garden and helped my flowers bloom.

Such love was never supposed to happen to me. I was a loner, and kept those I cared about at a distance. I adored my lonely moments, calmly torturing myself with visions of safety and security while describing visions of bliss to those who loved me. I’d close my eyes in those moments of stillness when, suddenly, I’d feel a love wrap all around me. Then my eyes would open to the morning air, and my ears to the silence that begged me for an answer.

I was often defined by those who could not not see the flowers in the forests of their mind. When I played outside their hardened circles they would taunt me, reigning me in to be more like them. I learned to fight, slowly at first, then at full speed until I became a master. A master of me, a master of a dream I longed to see fulfilled. A master of nothing, everything, and all things in between.

Once she came, she would not leave. One heart beat alive our two chests while offering no apology for the condition that we shared. Slowly we walked hand in hand toward the same sunset, upon the same horizon, beyond those rocky mountains and muddy shorelines. Neither of us how to pull, or push. The journey was just that natural.

We painted with a similar brush, using similar paints upon the same canvas. We thought the same thoughts and sang the same song with two distinctive voices, never losing our place and always finding who we were in the notes. We never needed to pretend, and we never needed to give up who we were, because who we were was exactly who was wanted to begin with.

Even when we disagreed, we agreed to it. No fraction was too small and no sum too large for our loving mind, and through the shaken pitfalls and stony fields we roamed no obstacle was too great, no puddle too muddy for us not to play in. We made love in the rain, danced slowly in the snow, and ran crazily in the sunshine despite the uncertain stares of our befuddled audience.

It was easy, this union.

It would take some effort but never any work, and despite that lack of work others seemed to worship, our rows were neat and our fields were tilled. We lived simply and we lived together.

We lived. Together.

When you meet your other, her image will make your breath dissolve. Her touch will make your mind scatter in all directions, then her kiss will have you focus in only one. You will feel things you’ve never felt, and see things you’ve never seen. You will want her will all your soul, and you will dance a fool’s dance for just one more drink from her golden chalice.

She’ll never make you beg, but you will anyway. 

Because you want to. 

Then you’ll know. Each and every loss you’ve had, each and every failure of love, led you to her. Then you’ll see those failures as great successes as her hand reaches out for yours. You’d find no better place to be as the early morning sun peeks through the bedroom window that you share. Then when she climbs on top of you to wish you the best of mornings, you will have no doubt that there is no place else to be.

Let that moan you let out be a testament to gratitude, and then give her something to be grateful for.

 

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Author: Tom Grasso

Editor: Renee Picard 

Photo: Wikimedia Commons 

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