By the Spillway

Evening, on the third day. You have been free with your smile: sunning the lives of innocent passers-by: irradiating children, and bringing a glow to men and women alike. I love your smile. And, I love when you are free with it. We are walking, now, closer to the spillway. The torrent thunders on, heedless, and the sound insulates us. There is a kind of peace there, in the shared separations. You look out to the thundering cataract, and then back at me.

I can see your arousal, and can know it. You are biting your bottom lip, and not speaking. You smile at me, your dark eyes lighting. I feel struck by a million candlepower; transfixed, I, in the lights of an onrushing locomotive.

You cock your head, and I am seized, and follow, as you lead. You buttocks swim on the current; my mouth watering, as I follow. I quick march, and waylay you, kissing your cheek, nearer the park than the spillway. Looping my arm round your waist, and you, looping yours around my waist… and we sway along the path like drunken sailors.

I stroke your cheek, and smile, you smile back.

You lean in, I follow. And our lips touch; ever-so slight... the touch is electric. Your mouth opens to me, my tongue finds yours: a connection.

mmm

Inquisitive meets tentative. I hug you close, and bend you back as the kiss deepens.

And tentative hazards a question.

Capturing you upper lip and then your lower… teeth (mine) skating on the plush, and then, my tongue separating… exploring.

A high, sharp, moan... like a squeak from you.

Then, I pull away, control slipping with each millimeter of distance. Control owned by you.

You know what they say about squeaky wheels, eh?

You look at me, your brown eyes big and dark, and, "kiss me, again, like that…"

And I... I comply. And yet… this steepling, climbing, never 'again'. Better. Grander. My love growing. My cock.

And I feel your body, tight against me. There is a fracture. And our gazes. You avert your eyes, and I'm holding your hand.

We walk on, as the sun marches lower in the sky.

"Beautiful." Your verdict.

"I emphatically agree." Yet, I am looking straight at you, and, fuck the water.

Your cheeks are peach with reflected light. The peach deepens.

We stop there. Mute witnesses to the receding light and the purple-dark, once-white, river.

My hand lacing fingers with your fingers.

Your fingers… my fingers… our fingers: I kiss each knuckle in turn, and watch you.

You are stalwart. You resist reaction; even as electricity jerks up your arm. And, especially when I kiss your neck… just a tiny flutter on an eyelid to betray you.

I'm holding you now: my hands on your back, my mouth claiming sanctuary in yours.

And the sunlight forgotten.

mmm

This dusk, this dusk...

When I pull back, seeing the sun's death in your eyes. It is so beautiful. Prisoned light, and pools of deep water: there, in your eyes. And there I fall, catching on the lips.

Searing heat, and bracing cold, your body molding to mine.

Yeah!

Do you feel your soft breasts, against my chest and hear, also, two heartbeats? Yours n mine… yours n mine…

Ours.

And hours, we stand there, kissing.

Drinking. Tasting, feeling, flying…

mmm

My hands on your spine, my fingers describing the ridges of vertebra: down, down compass needle. Progression, my hands are firmly gripping your ass.

My lips firmly on yours. You know I want you. I'm with ya, innit. Right beside you. The growl tells it, and the fire down below, fire even the sun could not match… or the rising moon.

Elsewhere, water from the spillway blunders on and Quiet Night sounds indolent; you break from me a little. You look around, blushing, "someone might see… (?)"

"Let them look." My grin impish, my eyes alight, "if they aren't blinded by your beauty, then they deserve to see all that they can."

You favor me with an exasperated expression, shifting from frown to smile.

And then it doesn't matter. Your lips are mine, my hands roving, seeking a home…

And you say, 'touch me,' or you send it psychically. Your body is a convincer… even if I am easily convinced.

My palm trembling on the curve of your ass.

And now the moon, high above.

And again your fear, as the skirt bunches, and the cold hits.

"Here?"

I nod.

"Now?"

Emphatic, the raise of eyebrows, and the smile.

You seem nonplussed. And, maybe the night air on your calves is giving you chills; as my fingers on your thighs are giving you pause.

"Please... I…"

"Sssshhhh," I say… or do I? I can't remember, now.

I feel it though, as a thrumming, electric cable between us.

I am kneeling now, and reaching up. My hands inside and around the waistband of your panties. Now, in my grasp. There is heat there, and scent pouring over me.

Slithering down: the cotton, over your knees and silken ankles, and you step out. I hold this little thing in my hand, and fold it neatly.

My hand again on your thigh, on the outside. My fingers, loose-fisted; the flats of the nails grazing the front of your Sartorius muscle.

You lift, for me, your skirt; and I am presented, for the first time, with the wonder of your sex.

It is a good thing I am kneeling.

And so my third kiss, and, so you gasp… for the power of three is abundant, and the power of my tongue on your clit. This connection. This live circuit. My fingers sliding and separating. My mouth questing and searching.

mmm

My mouth, that is full and busy… and dancing.

Tell me of this taste, O Gods! Sing to me odes for ambrosia and musky Arabian perfumes.

Scent and taste/sweetness and sharpness… as like nothing else.

And the singular cry from you.... a choked... and wild and barely held joy. Your thighs spreading.

mmmmmm

So that nectar is mine, all mine: nectar for which I am greedy. My beard dewy with your presents… your flavor. I am practically chewing… my fists closing on your swaying ass, and pulling you down. I hear a moan, muffled by the fact my ears are enclosed in your heated thighs. And yet… it vibrates through your whole body.

Oh yeah.

I feel faint pressure, you fist in my hair… since when am I standing?

And since when am I a prisoner of your eyes, and your mouth?

I am now kissing you a fourth and fifth time; my tongue is invading and sharing with you, and you tasting you on me. Your passion coils back on itself, and becomes legion.

You hands in the vicinity of my sex, your nimble fingers unzipping fly, popping button… and my springing cock, blade-like in the moonlight, the head sheathed in foreskin, but curious and hungry.

Panting… saliva at the corners of your mouth… you look furtively about.

But the cock 'is out of the bag', my love! I don't care if the Chief of Police came strolling by, with half the city, and your husband. This deal is done, and all that remains is transaction.

I am lifting you and cradling you, for the path is not a comfortable place and the street lamp has attracted moths.

So I find bed, in the moss, in secret. The path seems distant. Is. And the chill. I hear no sound, in your presence. I know.

And your skirt slides up.

Is this your doing? Or mine? Perhaps it is ours?

And, of course, I pull away your tank top. For there is much beauty hidden there. Your breasts, pendulous, heavy. I keep between them, kissing each rung of your sternum. Your arching back, bringing alignment. I'm kissing and suckling, and searching… and wanting with the force and heat of breath.

Exhalation.

Now, you groan. Your thighs creep up, and I can scent my prey.

Your fingers: sharply, sharply… even through my shirt. And me: on nipple, and the next, mouth only. Back and forth, nip and kiss and lick and suckle… but my teeth graze only, no hard indentation to flesh

And my hands blazing trails, flames erupting.

And your lips open up, down below, for me to search through.

There is a cry.

And it could be yours: low.... and sizzling, sibilant… echoing in my throat. "Fuck me!" Your voice, and my desire, "give it to me!"

And so I shall. I pull away my jeans, so that I have unfettered movement.

And I slip forward. And there are invasions so slick so sly that even an accomplish watcher would miss them.

But you do not.

Another cry. Sweet nightingale song tore from your depths.

I am pulling back and plunging forward.

Mmmm…

A raft on a wild, crazy, boiling river.

I swear I feel spray on my cheeks, and your heels on my rump.

You stare at me… mouth open, unspeaking; you eyes unseeing… but they see more then I know.

And I am kissing your throat, and my thrusts are regular and deep, met in rhythm by your hips.

Slick, sweet. Hot, hot… oh, so hot.

There is a heavy gust of pent up breath, mine, a wind in your hair… my fingers now, and my other hand, where your heart is.

Your heart, that hammers against my hand, like a caged bird.

Fucking you.

Yeah.

Your lips parting: a smile, opened mouthed. Your legs looping ankles… and, has my lover grown spurs?

Your eyes are closed to me. You, sightless and groping… and your wailing should bring the wildlife down on us. You fingers digging stripes of my back.

I look at you and freeze. "Replace your divots, Dear."

And you can't help the little laugh.

But now it is: the rapids of this river.

My hard, straining, pulsing, hungry, cock: impatient inside you. Pushing onward. I let him run, and he charges.

Your hips crashing against me, rising to meet me, your body slippery and glowing, streaked with sweat.

And the beautiful, gorgeous, heady scent of us, mingled and heavy as lilacs. I am holding your hands; clutching them as would any drowning man. My penis sloshing inside you. The sound of us, wet and encompassing.

I feel capsized, and I am… completely. Washed, and turned, and upside down.

Since when are you straight as a post; breasts rising and proud in the moonlight; your hair wild and flying?

I'm gripping you, lest you float away, and you are dancing above me… our hips our permanent joint.

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

I can feel too, a rising; falling up and into you… I can feel the way I contract, and the way you do; my hitching cock, and your snatching cunny.

I know I am close

My thumbs and fingers leaving pinkish dents on your flesh; and you are reaching for the stars, tangled in your hair, and sprinkled on your breasts.

I can feel nothing and everything, I am so alive. Every sense screaming, and screaming, for release. I can hold it back no longer. Bucking, bucking. Staring into the void, the junction. Seizing. Roaring.

And my semen shooting like a comet into your perfect, sacred vessel. Your cervix clenching, dipping down… Nature's course, like the river.

Once.

Twice.

Many.

Spasms, and light, and expanse. A rocking ocean, after a hurricane. You ride me out. Your back arching away like a curved bow, your arms two fluttering wings.

And I am calm. Spent.

And you lay upon me, as if finding a shoal, or eddy pool.

"Whew," you say. (Or I do)

I can smell you, in your damp hanks of hair, and a shiver runs through me. The sweet stink of sweat and pheromones… you potent cunt, you! I am in heaven. In warm, lustful, heaven: a meadow of Pan, so many nymphs to chase… and you. You, being the goddess o'er all.

I squeeze your body, and laugh.

You shift a fraction, and my slack penis slithers free. You scoot over and cuddle unto my shoulder

I whine, "Escapee!"

And your laughter is in your lips, and against my cheek.

I feel, distantly, your open mouth touching me, and dew, shared and slick.

"Mmmm," your whisper, "lets come to this park more often."

'If you insist, my love…' and, did I say that?

I do not remember... for I am falling; or have fallen, with you.