Just as you like it

In the semi-darkness, on his bony, still boyish knees, with hair on my face, his face, I burst with cinematic passion, which I simultaneously translate into deeply moist kisses. I move my hips with careful laziness, bursting with the desire for a quick, now, now. We have time, I tell myself, we have time, I purr, taking his folded ear between my lips, feeling him uncovering more and more of me and subjecting it to the scrutiny of his gray eyes. Can he see in the dark like a cat? I hesitate for a moment before sinking deeper into the wetness of our oral cavities. He must be eating me, devouring me, hooking his tongue, drawing me in, and soon my head, my torso, will disappear into his mouth, only my legs, my feet will protrude, then nothing, then I'll be completely inside him.

Okay, I say quietly, okay, okay, I'm undressing, look, I'm taking it off. I reject it. Here's your cleavage, here are your breasts, oh, one nipple sticks out, hard and purple from all this, from all this madness, from your passion. Lick here, help me, feel it pulsate.

He places his fingertips on me, moving them until I convulse, the convulsions marching along the contours of my breasts and sliding down my belly to the curves of my hips.

Let it be that I love you.

He supports my back with his hands, and I can lean back, turn my face to the sky, count the stars. The Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, Ursa Major—I mention their names to make it more romantic. I imagine the shaft and the North Star on the dark ceiling, but suddenly I can't focus, because he's stroking my thoughts, washing my intellect with his saliva. He's so wet, so hot, so... hard, I move on his lap, pressing myself against that place I should be exploring myself.

No, first I'll send my hands out to scout.

Or no, first I'll pee.

He waits in the dark for a few minutes, maybe longer, while I sit on the toilet, mentally directing the sequel, writing a beautiful future for us. I'll make it so he always wants more. So that afterward, he only wants me. I flush the water, which comes and goes like a wave, taking away the gold-tinged part of me, visual proof that everything flows, everything passes.

I return to him, swaying my bare breast like a siren, a Nike of Samothrace, Liberty leading the people to the barricades, a light breeze sweeps over them and sharpens my nipples. Then I take his hands, see, darling, how you affect me. I've missed you so much. Rip it all off me and see that I even have you under my skin.

The legs of my jeans slide most easily over my raised feet, trailing over my thighs, calves, and toes. The unbuckled belt jingles, making my ID squeal with joy. Because in a moment, he'll touch me where the larks are singing.

Wait, what about me?

I want to touch him too.

I carry all this divine wonder of mine on my spine, made of bones and entrails covered in skin, with points above and below sea level, with hills and valleys, marshes and caves full of slippery riddles. I press them against him through my breasts, they change shape, flattening out, like dough, light, soft, and elastic. Friendly, pleasant. Now the same thing will begin on the other side, for symmetry's sake, the Law of Hammurabi: an eye for an eye, pants for pants. There's no shirt anymore, but there's the tabletop of his torso with its buttons, a nipple, a frying pan on which I knead the dough for my breasts.

You're so cute. It's on the tip of my tongue, but I won't say it, I will say: you're so manly.

Give me back those pants already.

Unzipping it is like a ritual; slowly, reverently, I open the denim sanctuary of debauchery, pushing aside the cotton sesame of my underwear.

All I have to do is reach deeper.

I swallow.

I close my eyes.

When I open them, he hands me what I asked for.

A masculine emblem, an impressive piece of manhood. I reverently place my fingers on it. Up or down? He closes his eyes and offers his mouth. We kiss in the gliding rhythm of my exploits.

But this can't last, it can't, there are so many things to do, and we hesitate, and we get stuck on one thing. I place my tongue on his neck and daringly move down.

He doesn't want to, a brave boy, a real man, he prefers to wrestle, to fight over who's next. He pulls me up by the hair, spreads me open, pins me to the ground, because I'm the one who's supposed to lose, to surrender in his mouth. He's kissing almost everywhere: the crook of my elbow, my navel, my hipbone, leaving rings of saliva on my thighs, and I'm oozing between my legs, oozing at the thought. So let a fleeting thought flow, an abstract thought, a scalar wave from the nerve endings of my brain straight into the corridors of my intimate tunnels. A thought burning like fire, lubricating me from within as the tip of his tongue does the same on the outside. Just a moment, hold on a little longer. Two licks around, one lengthwise.

There you go.

Aim, fire. Bull's-eye. Right in the center of the target.

I close my eyes and let myself be carried away. The thick waters gushing from my springs stretch into an ocean with waves of ebb and flow. You play in them like Poseidon, skillfully moving across the surface like Christ, and I spread the wings of my thighs and fly away, only your tongue—an antenna—connecting me to the world. It's bright, sticky, and brackish, suddenly something churns, something reddens on the horizon, a storm is approaching. Slowly, the waves rise and flow over the edges of the reservoir; your cheeks are already smeared. Something is brewing, twisting at the very end of the corridor, something is shrinking and disintegrating, a tornado, a twister, and a cyclone are approaching. The end of the world is coming. The archangels in my head begin to blow their trumpets, and you withdraw your head and smile mischievously from the depths of my lower legs, like Lucifer himself. Run away or he'll suck you in! I scream, shout something, then I breathe and roll my eyes, frown, clench my fists, your skin is all over my nails. I spit sweet tears down my spine, straight onto your tongue.

From between my thighs, he looks into my eyes, and I release a few last, rapid breaths. They flutter in the air for a moment like disoriented birds. We freeze, and he calms the ocean with a gentle kiss.

But I don't want to, I don't want to!

I want to cuddle, roll in you, make love, mate. I'm burning! Tear me apart. Now, while it doesn't hurt yet. While I'm stretchy like a modeling clay figure.

I cling to his hair, bite his lips, my teeth scrape against his lips. These hands, these masculine hands, I place on the rounded parts of my female body, which constantly wants to play, mischief, be punished like a naughty child. I scratch his cheeks, bite his aorta, curl my eyelashes around my fingers.

Do you want it that bad?

Show me, well, show me how you want it, he says, and I lean in, do it, prove it. He's already so big, and he's still growing, probably from massaging my lips, probably because my saliva is watering him. Down? I ask with my eyes, and with my eyes he answers, down. My throat is tight. You have such a slender neck, he says, a swan's neck that can accommodate him all.

I grit my teeth for a moment, my jaw quivering with fear of overdoing it, of short-circuiting, of freezing it once and for all. It would probably be better to bite it off and swallow it, I think, a thick piece of you, a good, solid piece of meat, nutritious and easily digestible—no fat. Sip, and it's over. But what to do with what's hanging underneath? It's a shame to leave it like this. I put my tongue to it once, twice, open my mouth and bite, soft, runny, escaping from under my teeth, wrinkled like Chinese cabbage, eaten only raw.

Suddenly I feel a slight retraction, a retraction from above, almost imaginary, like a backward twitch, like a shadow of retraction, so I turn into my own mouth and with all this, lips, tongue, the whole menagerie, I wander back up.

Only then does he like it.

He's already wet with saliva, he can't take it any more.

I can, I can, he grabs me under the armpits and spreads me flat. Now it's time for a ride. Girl. Have you had enough fun? Enough fun. Now we're getting serious. And indeed, his face is serious, he's all serious, he seriously puts my legs on his shoulders, presses his cheeks to my feet, seriously says I love you.

Then comes the push.

Like a blow. One, two. The whole thing. He's pounding against me. He's making a slide out of my insides. I alternately squeeze and open my eyes to see a kaleidoscope of events before my eyes. A blown hair. A shock. A grimace. A shock. A hand on my breast. A shock. A finger in my mouth. A shock. Lips on my fingers. A shock. From my feet. A shock. Hair in my mouth, teeth in my mouth. He leans in and I'm right there. He presses his lips against mine, telling you, shh—I think I screamed again. Does it hurt? Does it hurt? You do! No, it doesn't hurt, never mind, you can go ahead, I take everything upon myself, all responsibility. He's tearing me apart, I'm leaving, I'm drifting away, I'm sinking into the softness glazed with his semen, drops of his sweat dripping onto my lips, I lick up the sweet food of the gods like ambrosia. Now I'll turn around, and you, servant, kneel before my divine ass.

He has me, takes me in his hands, holds my hips as I gaze into the abyss of pleasure, I see what's below us, I look deeper, some uniformly accelerated movement, some stirring. My breasts clap with delight.

We feel so good, so good, I don't want it to end, don't stop, I think, don't stop, don't leave, don't come.

Too late.

It spreads like a fan across my back, sees into my pores, into my cells, flows down my ribs. He adds a little more, two more drops, the last seed no one will ever plant. It lies along my spine, melts into me, fits together like a puzzle piece. With a breath, he calms the trembling world.

I endure a moment longer and collapse under the weight, the structure of cells, hormones, and fluids crumbles, a monster with four arms and legs lies heavily on its back, steaming with the last of its passion, the last of our energy released through the tips of our lips for final kisses.

You are mine, your hair, your eyes, your elbow, you are mine everywhere, even down there.

He reaches out and pulls me into the world of his embrace.