Sketch Of A Dream

The meeting drones on. I am thankful I am not in a conference room but rather stuck in front of my workstation. I am listening to two people who do not listen to each other bicker about two separate subjects smashed together into one argument that is going nowhere. I sigh aloud to relieve the frustration of being stuck in a virtual space with such dull-headedness.

I stare into the background image on my laptop as they drone on. There I find her. She is here with me, her form gracing the pixels with their super-excited electrons, photons that zap my chest with the full force of her beauty. The meeting is at full volume, but I can no longer hear the words they are speaking. There is only her gorgeous geometry, sitting on the hood of her old pick-up truck in her dress and heels, her legs compelling me to walk from my desk, walk from reality, and into my dreams of being with her.

I oblige.

I always listen to her beauty. Her light steers me to where I want to be. One instant in the drudgery of know-it-all coworkers, the next between her legs, her arms wrapped around my neck. I stare into the monitor, I hear her whisper the soft-moaned phrase into my ear, "I am yours."

Shifting in my chair to accommodate the excitement that has filled between my hips and the bottom of my desk, I give in to her declaration. I sit throbbing into the cusp of reality to the wishful thinking of my dreams. There is no hesitation, I am transient to the space of dreams with her. I need no further invitation to take that leap. My eyes glass over into the excitement of being with her energy.

I can feel the warmth of her skin on my fingertips. My hands glide along the outside of her thighs as I lean into her embrace. Her skin is so smooth, the magnetism of her flesh tingles along the path my finger takes. Oh, how I want to consume her. I want every bit of her all at once, everywhere.

I throb in the delectable pain of want at my desk. The meeting continues without me, for I am with her.

My fingers find that her dress slides up easily with the help of my hands and the way she opens to me. Granted to the delight of my eyes, the place where her beauty and warmth present in the most delicious manner. The sun almost glistens off of her smooth thighs. My mouth waters.

I can detect the scent of her own need, wafting in the light summer afternoon breeze. My mouth waters as the palm of my hands caresses the tops of her thighs, my thumbs pointed down so that they may drag ever closer to my goal. I feel her legs coax my hands forward as our lips tangle in an assault of yearning. Our tongues arguing over who wants the other more.

The sun comes through my office window, painting my dream's setting. I can feel the summer sun on my face, highlighting my moment with her. My damp, viscous eagerness seeps through the strain of my jeans. The voices of the conference call are so distant. I am a dimension away, still with her.

My mouth waters, for I have affixed my desire to taste her. All of her. I need her to feel my tongue paint the pleasure she creates. I need to control her breath, and steal her reservation. I need her cries in unrestrained pleasure, quivering in echos, her essence running down my cheeks and chin with ecstasy. I want to taste her and smell her for the rest of the afternoon. I want to have her aroma upon my lips, upon my lengths, remaining on my fingers, just as she is upon my mind.

I enjoy being unencumbered by the restraints of clothing, they seem to melt away to nothing when I am with her. I can feel the way she holds me so tight, caressing every inch that slides so easily between the kiss of her gorgeous lips. Oh, how I love to watch how I disappear inside her beautiful folds, listening to the way our bodies sound in communion. I love how her legs wrap around my hips, her strength convincing me to give in to the burning energy of bliss. I enjoy the way she convinces the urgency of my lascivious actions, raising in return even more wanton need. Pain matters not, only heightens the experience of being together in the ache of longing.

I dream of each stroke and the sharp piercing ecstasy of finding maximum immersion and contact, the sweet slow withdrawal only to push harder and deeper upon my return. I hear her cries as instructions. My growls of breathless energy are given to her for her to do with as she pleases. I give all that I have. She takes my offer with tremors of joy, crying ever so loudly. She digs her fingers into my back, her nails digging into my flesh. My hand grasps her shoulders to pull her tighter against me. We grind tightly together, exploding into the afternoon heat.

"Hello, you there? We are waiting for your update!", my boss is loud now in my speaker. I never heard my name, yet I know he is talking to me. I snapped from the euphoria of her embrace by the harshness of reality. I look down at my notes.

I have written a few observations from earlier in the meeting, but I find no useful updates for this frivolous conference. What I find is a reminder of my daydream, a sketch of my afternoon meeting with her scribbled into my spiral. I was not even aware I was drawing, I was simply enjoying the union of our lines merging into her beauty.

Stammering through a work meeting only makes our tryst much more special.