Our traditional holiday season was well in progress. About 10 years ago, we purchased a few acres with a log house on a small lake about 60 miles northwest of the city as our weekend retreat. Landscape lighting served to create a mystical scene of snowflakes lazily falling to earth. We knew that in the morning our land will have been transferred into the incredible beauty of a winter wonderland by a foot of snow expected by the morning.
The last of our neighbors around the lake had just left after sharing a few bottles of my wife's favorite Champagne. My bride of 24 years, Ali, had quietly walked upstairs while I brought some additional wood in from our deck to keep the fireplace well fed for the long, chilly night ahead. I was preparing the stage for our very own celebration of the season, placing two crystal Burgundy glasses on the side table, bracketing a breathing bottle of 2005 Clos des Lambrays. I had been lucky enough to have bought 4 cases shortly after our marriage. At that time we decided to have one bottle a year on Christmas Eve. Ali and I have a very happy marriage although not a totally traditional one.
We both shared a great enthusiasm for adventure and were determined to not let complacency and possessiveness destroy not only our great love but more importantly, our friendship. I know the last sentence seems preposterous, but that has made every day of 24 years a great adventure. Our fundamental guideline is to honor, respect, never hurt each other physically or verbally, and to share our wishes, thoughts and emotions.
White waiting for Ali to change and join me, I draped a blanket over the recliner love seat facing the fireplace, poured two glasses of wine and brought two plates of snacks from the kitchen. I inserted several CD's featuring Andrew Lloyd Weber, Frank Sinatra, Nat "King" Cole, Andrea Bocelli and Ravel. Then I sat down, picked up the glass of wine, held it in such a way to see the fire flickering through the deep ruby color. I now emotionally was a child waiting to see what Santa had brought. My Christmas surprise could not come quickly enough.
I first heard the very faint noise as she stepped down the stairs, the whisper of her feet walking across the carpet. I closed my eyes to accentuate the very soft shuffling sounds and background music. Next came the faint headiness of the Chantecaille Frangipani perfume that she knew was my all-time favorite. I knew there were only four drops of perfume on her body, one below each breast and on in each crease formed where her thighs joined her torso. She paused behind the chair to allow an elevation of the suspense. This moment, entrenched in our intimate tradition was one I anticipated more than any moment in the year. What had she chosen to wear? Every year is a treat from totally nude to an elaborate gown with absolutely nothing but ribbons holding in together while leaving her completely nude from behind.
This year the view was a sensual as it gets. From her neck down she wore a very tight, very elastic, black body stocking that hid nothing but created the mystery and mystique of the most erotic painting imaginable. Her perfect small breasts stood firm within the deep shadowy confines. Her hardened nipples, either from the excitement of anticipation or the chill of the air created micro-mountains just waiting to be encased in my mouth. Her stomach, unlike most women her age was still firm with gentle curves that converged at her pussy which was covered by the most glistening, soft cushion of black hair. Every aspect of sexuality and sensuality was on display yet hidden. Her glistening black hair was uniquely coiffed for her, the left side trimmed and straight to her jawbone, the right side to below her shoulders, totally stunning and achingly erotic. A bright red lipstick with matching finger and toe nails seemed to elevate the room temperature at least five degrees.
Ali had indulged one of my many whims. She had a few strands of hair on her temples that had just started showing a bit of gray at the roots. I had asked her to wait a few days before getting them dyed, not because I wanted to make her feel older, but to allow both of us to reflect on the nearly 3 decades of friendship, then passion, then deep, never-ending love.
She sat down on my left, accepted the glass of wine and leaned back into the cushion. She lifted he feet to the footrest then casually parted her legs. I turned to her, put my left arm behind her shoulders and gently placed my right hand where it needs to be several times a day, cupping her pussy, not as if I am pronouncing my ownership or groping but restating my adulation of her and what she and he body means to me. She wiggles to get more comfortable, spreads her legs a bit more to allow me to feel her heat and softness. Now we pull the cover up, toast each other and reflect on the past year any other events. After a few sips and several kisses, she moves closer reciprocates with her left hand and we talk and most importantly share our feelings.
"You never cease to amaze me. it's like every day is our first. I am the luckiest guy on earth." I whisper.
She turns her head, smiles, takes another sip of wine and deliberately sticks her tongue out a bit, to caress her lips, as if she is capturing every tiny nuance of flavor from the wine. She watches my face intently to see my eyes follow every minute motion as her tongue leaves a glimmering residue of saliva. I lean forward and gently pull her lower lip into my mouth and repeat her motion, tasting every square millimeter of her lip. I repeat the motion on her top lip and go back to re-taste her bottom lip. Her eyes seem to light up even more, with a tiny crinkle of skin in the corner of each eye.
