so, when i awaken from this very brief afternoon nap, a bit disoriented, ignore it. it's me getting back to us. us most assuredly post-coital, and it may take me a minute to get my bearings again.
yes, it's me and you in this unfamiliar bed and yes, most assuredly it was you and i doing it, tasting each other, having each other, fucking the bejesus out of each other, just a few short minutes ago, and it was your sounds that i last heard before i nodded off, your quieted breathing which followed your intense breathing and related moans which coincided (presumably) with those orgasms of yours that you then described to me in elegant detail: small (and at times not so small) series of waves that carried you over and out of yourself and over and then deeper into me. you riding them atop me, beneath, and beside me and however many ways we went after them and you rode them all.
i loved your words, your sensations, your orgasms. they are so foreign to me, i will never have anything like those, i am plumbed altogether differently.
but i welcome being here for them more than anything else that i know.
or don't as the case may be.
