by Tasha Smith
(01/01/03)
The Reubenesque beauty I have been lusting after for weeks is now in my company. There she sits, reading the newspaper in her white cotton panties, eating a bowl of Cheerios. I haven't had a chance to go grocery shopping lately, so it's the best I can offer -- but she seems satisfied. I watch as little locks of hair escape from the loose ponytail bound at the base of her neck. She is beautiful. A smile crosses my face every time the tips of her hair nearly dip into her cereal bowl. She either doesn't notice, or she doesn't care.
I stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Quick, pinch me. I remember getting hot and wet when I first saw her in the elevator, never thinking that she had noticed me, or was single, or was a lesbian, or might even find me attractive. And now this woman, with her robust tummy and voluptuous hips, is eating my Cheerios.
I can still smell the sensuality of last night. I can taste her sweet juice, like cinnamon. I am not a very experienced lover, but I knew I wanted her, and knew I wanted to please her.
I remember removing her bra as she lay upon the blankets of my bed. Her breasts heaved with her breath, and trembled with anticipation. Her pink, swollen nipples ached to be touched...so I waited. I climbed up on her and she closed her eyes and put her hands in her beautiful hair. I gently kissed between her silken breasts and placed my hands on my favorite curve on a woman, the slope from the stomach to the breast. So full, so warm. I wanted to feel her arch into my hands.
She was my muse, my creative energy. I reached for the felt-tipped marker on the nightstand next to my bed. She looked at me with curiosity, but I just smiled. On her right breast, above the nipple, I wrote the word sakura. "In Japanese, sakura means 'cherry blossom'," I told her. "Many haiku have been written about the cherry blossoms for their beauty." I slowly placed my lips around her nipple and flicked my tongue against it. On her left breast, below the nipple, I penned süß milch. "This," I explained, "means 'sweet milk' auf Deutsch." I didn't think that needed further explanation, so I traced my tongue from below her breast to her nipple, between the two words. I licked her nipple very delicately and blew cold air to offer sensation.
Around her navel in the pattern of a spiral, I wrote the words: "You are a beautiful woman. Raw, real, voluptuous, scintillating. You are my beautiful woman." And I kissed her navel and carefully nibbled at it, teasing the skin.
She quickly sat up, removed her panties, smiled, and lay back down. She knew my game. She brought up her legs and let her knees fall to the side. "What words will you grace me with now?" A clever smile appeared on her face.
"My dear, words have not yet been uttered that would do such a beauty justice," I whispered. I could feel the heat, I could feel a yearning growing in my hands and mouth. I wanted her, and now I had her. The most beautiful woman in the world, here, in my bed.
At first I took her with my hands, feeling the smooth skin and the tender flesh. I lightly traced around the entrance and up around her clitoris, so close, but not touching. Her body shifted to accommodate my touch. I lowered my lips and outstretched my tongue inside her. Her muscles constricted around me, shaking, wanting more. I pushed my thumb hard against her clitoris, pulsating, curved my tongue, and drank in her nectar. Small, slow movements, for I knew she wanted more...
"What are you staring at?" she asks me now, knowing I have been lost in thought.
"You. Beautiful you," is all I say. She laughs and continues reading the back of the cereal box.
