My head is resting on a brick wall and I am standing in front of her. I indeed need support to hold my body up because I am using all my effort to stop trembling. We came down together to finish organizing the books that were donated to the church. It was a quiet Sunday night and we are on Christian duty.
I have no idea how the fuck we got there! How did we get in this situation? All I know is that I am losing my mind right now. She smells good and tastes delicious—my fingers are enjoying this. I insert each of them, turn after turn, very slowly, in her sweet wetness. I just want to feel the unique way in which each finger appreciates her. How her texture is different; how distinctly she holds on to each of my digits. So patiently I give each of them their turns.
I’m doing all of this while her panties still cling to her hips. I start by caressing her wet panties and interact with her and her panties as a barrier. Eventually, somehow, I don’t know how her skin becomes so delicious, to an almost painfully extent. It lies there, just millimeters from my index finger.
So I explore it. If this keeps up, I am going to climax, without any contact made even! It’s mental, physical, spiritual, This girl drives me mad!
I cease the slow piano business and reposition her soaking panties back to their rightful place.
I am a respectable married woman. What is happening to me? She looks at me with some sort of shyness, as if we’re catching each other in a moment of naughtiness. She giggles. Those dimples that texturize her shiny gorgeous dark skin… Why is she so hot? Should I be doing this in a church basement? What demon has possessed me? But it also feels so pure. I got myself into this position by appreciating her soul too much. But is it so bad to honour someone’s soul? Her beauty that I saw so blunt-fully ever since I was a young teen has always being troubling. Through her eyes I met limitless, freedom, fearlessness and tenderness, immense tenderness! My mind racing and my pussy is pulsating, and I need to feel her vagina on mine, just once, urgently, and then I promise I’ll go back to being a church-going wife.
“Why are you hesitating? We’ve being avoiding this ever since we were teenagers! We can’t keep trying to be perfect because we obviously aren’t, love! She asks.
“I know,” I reply. By then, she’s caressing my lips with her finger like she doesn’t care what I have to say. Her eyes are flaming with deliciousness.
How can I blame her? I just plugged all my 10 fingers in her. It’s too late for speeches. Her smell perfumes the damp wood of the room. I lick my fingers. That taste is everything. I have never sucked on anything so good.
“Let’s get out of here,” she sings in my ear. Her breath is as warm, deep, and fermented as an aromatic spirit. She smiles again. She’s got this! I am the troubled one here. She resolved her inner conflict, if she ever had any, years ago, it seems.
She grasps my hand as we walk through the neighborhood, sister-like. The safe intimacy feels like an amulet. As long as we are together, we are safe to be lustful, sinful, avid, and thirsty. On the contrary, we are pure, loving, divine. She takes me behind Annette’s house, where there is a little bush, big trees path, and a little river that makes pitter-pattering noises.
I am tripping over the tension. We walk in a slow dance. We have waited so long that it seems greedy to rush now. We are thanking the years of torture that brought us here. We are wading into it as if into a warm bath.
She leans on a tree. I kneel. The skin of her legs is hot like coffee and I caress them with two fingers, I am not ready to squeeze her just yet, that’s to be saved for later, around the time I lose control.
We are almost there. I slip her panties aside again and start by kissing her lightly, and then more seriously. Her dark purple lips are all out like a cheeky insolent flower. Her clit is already hard and swollen. She is grinding, breathing heavily, and sucking her own fingers. She is so naughty! I like It! As my suckling becomes more voracious, I remind myself to slow down and penetrate with my tongue. Now squeezing her thighs, I play with her, whip her to the border and back.
The things I am doing to her, I have dreamed of doing to myself. I’m seeing us from above—proper married housewives, mothers, Christ-worshipers—abandoning our stations in life. We are beauty incarnate.
Now, my hands hang on to both sides of her head as I lose myself in her eyes. I am visiting eternity. Our lips and tongues merge. At times, it’s just the tips of our tongues, and others, it’s little nips, bitty bites. We moan as our bodies rub and our hips circle.
I go down again. I love going from her lips to her lips. Which one is more delicious? It’s hard to decide, they are complimentary. She sits so squarely at the crossroad of her pleasure, taking all of it without shame. As she lays on her flowery dress, I open her legs wide and focus my eyes on her pussy, enjoying the sights. What a perfect night. The moon is full and the air is hot and damp.
I love her tiny breast that point at the sky. I lick her nipples as she arched her back. I know how sensitive small tits are—mine are similar. I approach her and caress her still wet nipples with mine. Pure delight. I’m ready to sit on her juicy, dripping vulva, and for a few seconds, stay still, to introduce the girls. I had no idea if that is something one does, but I just follow my instinct. It’s my first time! But I hear little screams slipping out of her throat, and I’m still not moving yet. There is no point in moving when the pulsation of our stillness already creates a troubling set of communication. Little micro sweats pearls her upper abdomen, she is shaking and I am in great delight. I am involuntarily drooling, so I reached to her nipples again to suck as I start a slow motion grind, my clit caressing her beautiful pouty lips. Our hips are circling, our pussies excited to meet, suction-cupped to each other, and I know just then that we were meant to be together. I am tempted to go faster, but I enjoy the almost painfully delicious torture, so I resist and continue to master the art of slowness. Avidly kissing while scissoring shamelessly, we sneaked into the profound night, as the silence and the trees tune into the smothered music of our joint victory.
Minutes, or should I say centuries after, as we hugged and smile to each other sitting face to face on our now humid dresses, I saw in her eyes, as I hope she sees in mine, that regret will not be invited to diminish the power of the universe we have visited together.