ELECTRICITY

ã Dahlia Schweitzer

Today was one of those days where I really wanted to lie in bed with someone.  For some reason, the space inside my upper thighs felt especially naked, especially empty without someone’s hands to touch them.  I craved fingers running reconnaissance missions, exploring the territory before the tongue could take its turn.

I don’t always mind being alone – it’s not like I lie awake at night wondering when I’ll find someone to kiss me while I sleep.  It’s not like I go out to bars and explore the crowds, searching for a face to wake up next to.  It’s not like that at all.

I go out by myself, and I’m used to it.  I like it.  I can come when I want, leave when I want, and I don’t have to do favors for anybody.  I can be selfish and secretive and no one gets mad.  I even like going to movies alone, where I can watch all the credits (if I want) or leave early (if I want), and I don’t have to ruin that moment at the end of the movie, where your head is still lost in the lives of the people you just watched on the big screen, by making conversation about where to go next.

I don’t have to call if I’m running late, I don’t have to clean up until I’m ready, and if I feel like dressing ugly, no one minds.

I’m independent, and it suits me fine, except on days like today, where my bed feels awfully big for just one girl, and I wish there would be a knock at the door, and I would open it to see you standing there.

“Hello,” I would say.

“Hello,” you would say.

And then you would take my hand and lead me to the bedroom, where we would get in bed together, and you would wrap your arms around me, and slip one hand between my thighs, and we would just lie there and feel each other’s skin. I would breath in and out, matching my breath to the rise and fall of your chest, my hand tracing the lines of your ribs and then working up the courage to run down your stomach, before slipping my way to your hips.  I would rest there for a moment, feeling the crevice just behind the front of your pelvis.  My fingers would trace that hollow while my ears listened to the sound of your breathing, and I pressed my hips even closer against you.

While I drew figure eights along your hips, your breath would slowly speed up, each inhale growing more shallow, each exhale coming faster, and I could feel your thighs stiffening with anticipation.  While I kept tracing numbers, your fingers, still between my thighs, would start to move higher, slowly, gently, while my wetness seeped lower, running between my legs, until it found your fingers, and you sighed with pleasure.

I would give in to curiosity and let my fingers drift over the edge of your thighs until I found your cock, incredibly hard and amazingly smooth at the same time.  Upon contact, my inhalation matched yours.  My fingers wrapped around your cock, marveling at the perfect softness of the skin. I started to rub my hand up and down, the skin almost like liquid, shifting perfectly under my hand, pulling up just enough over the head before pressing down at the base of the shaft.  My hand moved faster, like a machine, the skin slipping and sliding like some exquisite fabric, while your breath and my breath quickened in tandem, the speed of our breath in direct correlation to the speed of my hand.

While breath and hand pressed and pulled and slipped and slid, your hand would find itself drawn by my wetness deeper between my legs until it found the dark hot source and, with mutual sighs, you would shove one, then two, fingers inside me as my thighs would arch around your arm in response.

Not realizing how empty I had been until you filled me, you fit perfectly into my insides, sending rivers of electric pleasure along every inch of my body.  The only sensation more acute would be the one caused by your other hand as it pressed against my lower back, your nails digging slightly into my skin, making my flesh feel like a million sensors overloaded by the voltage of your touch.

The power of having you near, the energy of your closeness, the current of your desire, would light me up like an over-decorated Christmas tree, my skin seemingly on fire, my body aching for you to press deeper, push harder, while my hand moved faster and faster over your cock, the skin so smooth, so soft, so delicate, that the very act of moving it back and forth would begin to hypnotize me.

Lulled by the rhythm of my motion, by the pattern of your breath, by the warmth rising from you, by the delicious electricity of your fingers within my body, I could feel myself lost in my own mind, the confines of my body slipping away from me, the only real gravity dictated by the energy of my insides and the energy of yours.  Lost in the sensation, I could think of nothing else, I could feel nothing else, than the rhythm of my hand on your cock and your fingers inside me.

In and out, in and out -- every time your fingers pulled out, I thought I could want nothing more than to feel them inside again.  Every time your fingers pushed in, I thought I could want nothing more than the delicious anticipation of having them rest on the rim of my entrance, in that split second where you waited, perhaps teasing me, perhaps just lost in your own heady sensations while my hand brought you closer and closer to your fantasies, to a gorgeous climax of your own.

Then you would lean over and begin to run your tongue across my breasts, your teeth lightly biting my nipples, the pleasure and pain mingling into one wave of pure perfect sensation, and it would be almost too much for me to stand.  When you began to breathe over my skin, your hot breath cascading over the freshly damp flesh, then I feared I would short circuit.  Too much power, too much voltage, over a limited system.

Desperate to finish you so that I could lose myself in your touch, desperate to finish you so that you would stop touching me for one instant, and I could remember how to breathe, I accelerated my pace, I shifted my machine into a higher gear, my rhythm steadily increasing, until your only movement was a tensing in the thighs and a faster rise and fall of the chest.  Your hand resting between my legs but without moving – you lay there beside me, moaning slightly as your climax came closer and closer and closer until it was there, and your hand grabbed my thigh while your voice begged me not to stop and I leaned over and slid my hand over your cock, just in time to catch the stream of cum and to feel the pulsing of your veins against my lips.

And then it was my turn.

After resting for a moment to catch your breath, while we both lay against each other, matching our breaths, lulled by the rhythm of our lungs, your fingers slowly made their way back between my legs, drawn deeper by the pressure of my hips against your hand.  I could feel how swollen I was, and I knew how slippery I must feel.  With delicate precision, made all the more precise by your post-orgasmic calm, you began making little perfect circles with your fingers against my clit, and I could feel myself falling into an endless tunnel of pleasure, rocked to a state of almost intoxication by the waves of electric sensation.

All I could think was, “more, more, more,” and all I could feel was your hot breath on my breast and your fingers alternating between tracing my clit and fucking me, first with two and then three fingers, filling me up perfectly, precisely, every inch of my skin curving against yours, until the waves consumed me, and I came with a sudden rush that left me unable to breathe while I grabbed you and held you close, close, closer.

Perfect.  Sublime.  Delicious.  Words fled through my brain, each unwilling to stay, but flickering once, in brilliant neon, trying to describe the sensations I was feeling.  Incredible.  I held onto you, unwilling to let your hands escape me, desperate to keep your breath on my skin, my lungs needing yours to dictate pattern and rhythm.  I tried to hold you close, I tried to keep you closer, but the more I grabbed, the less there was there to find.

You weren’t there.  You never were.  The bed was empty, and I was alone.

But with my eyes closed, anything could be possible.  With my eyes closed, I could make you stay as long as I wanted.  With my eyes closed, I breathed deeply to myself, ran fingers across my skin to remind myself of how that could feel, and then I slid my hand between my legs.