rainy days and sundays

Drops of rain splash onto the puddles, reflecting grey on the cool streets this late summer day. I love the rain, love the excuse to let my feelings wander, let my senses explore.

Hot tea is on my desk, warming fingers that type these words now as the music marches on.. It is the Bach–you know the one, the one in my car, the harpsichord concerto, the F minor, second movement.. the one that makes me stop and watch the raindrops out the quarter circle window where I write, thinking of the rain falling here, falling outside the window of my bedroom down below. I wish you were here contemplating these measures, wish you were here behind me, reaching around to unbutton my blouse and run your hands over my nipples still tender from being clamped for so long last night, luring me down the stairs, tempting me down from this room full of artifacts.. the Rilke left open on the desk next to the laptop, the pictures of friends holding rabbit ears up behind my head long ago, the ben wa balls neatly in their box, the notes and notes, the drawings, the dreams, the condom wrapper torn open and left on the floor from the last time you took me here, leaning me over my chair and pushing my legs apart impatiently to suit your needs, and evidently mine. No, no, I say, not wanting to leave my comfort, my words. Yes, yes–eventually overcome by desire for you, as I always am.

But you are not here, no. It has been so long that I dream you, perhaps, wish these things, some of them, many of them.. my imaginings on the page–on the screen–here like desire itself, the creative urge. The urge to fuck you in my big bed, in fantasies that grow wilder with the passing days. Wild? Oh.. yes, wild always as I touch your skin, as I explore you in various ways.. always wild despite the variations, the kaleidoscope of possibilities twisted, turned into one more way to fuck you.

I want a rainy day. I want you here as the rain falls, as my hair falls–how it fell when it was longer–into your face as I lean over you, my cunt enveloping your upright cock in moments too warm, too delicious, too marvelous. I hover above you, hot above you, you needing that velvet rush, the tightness, me full and soft and humid and swelling around you, thrilled, I wait there, frustrating you, your hands on my hips, pushing me down as I resist, tease you until you force the issue, push me harder down and oh, oh fuck, as we slide in together, you say I am such a good fuck as I ride you, first sliding all the way up, then back down, deeper, again and again. And then stay there, rocking, while you hold my hips down, while you look into my eyes to see that look you know, that look you say I always have when I am about to come, and you have regained control, can keep from coming now yourself, and you have me. You have me. Now, you flip me, grab my shorter hair, push my face into a pillow… I no longer gasp at this so much as smile, relieved that you are taking me.. taking over my body and using it, using me, fucking me hard while you hold my arms down and kick my legs apart–but no.. teasing, teasing.. I want this, now not the largo movement, but the presto, the insistent now now that urges you violently inside me again.. seeking resolution.

It is raining. I hear the rain as I lie still in the low late afternoon light, lie low, lie here in my bed, lie here, spent, and thinking of you.

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