Savasana

At the end of a long and tedious day of stressful work, I find myself attempting to sleep with an over stimulated mind and a fatigued body which is restless.  I have the "syndrome" in my legs, which rocks my husband to sleep -- soothing him (or so I tell myself), but leaving me running mental marathons, joogling my feet side to side or else twitching.  

Yearning to and finally entering that loitering space between wake and sleep ... my happy place ... eyes closed, I imagine the sun filtered and softly glimmering through leaves swaying in the breeze, warmed again by reflecting the sand that I'm laying upon.

I want to be the two circling hawks in the bright sky dancing in lazy circles in the hot current lifting them while cool air keeps them from floating too far away, holding them midway between flying and falling into thoughts of you, both making me feel lighter while applying the comforting weight of your body on mine while you kiss me gently.  

Your breath is warm and delicious on the side of my face as I hear your voice, a resonant deep whisper which I recognize reflexively, delighting in this hazy reunion.  It is relief, like an addict tasting the drug I’ve been kept from, locked away for too long.   I survived the excruciating withdrawals and shaking, the itchy skin … until what I want is so close.  All I have to do is reach out and allow myself to let go, no more jonesing.  I will feel better.  I will "sleep ... perchance to dream ... ay ... the rub."

Your voice in my ear.  No need to convince me of anything, I am so into you.  I am so ready for you.  

I imagine you with me as I softly and very slowly move my hands under my faded baggy t shirt.  I am both benefactor and beggar, touching and craving touch, my fingertips enjoying the stereognosis, my stomach pretending it's not me while also attempting to feel the hair on your stomach, your chest.

I conjure your hands on my breasts, squeezing fully and so hard that when I move on from them, the heat and redness remains -- hot marks and creases on my skin made by your hands.  My nipples erect and wanting.  When you lick and wring out each one, electricity zaps through my middle like lightening.  It's tendrils striving to rearrange internal molecules but finding no ground.   Goosebumps and the little hairs on my arms stretching into the air stirring above me.

I like the feeling.   I like what you are doing to me, but my needs are becoming fervent .  One hand slides down inside my pajama pants -- the draw string has always been fake.   A soft elastic waist band is a defenseless deterrent and my fingers know the way.  I am already wet, my cunt salivating wanting you.  

At first I am very light with my touching -- I like tactile sensations.  Tracing my fingertips along my pubis marking the soft stubble from a day's regrowth from shaving in the morning.  I feel my own soft skin and imagine you parting my knees to have better access.   I want you to taste me.  I want you to take your time and enjoy it.  Little circles over my clit, dipping down and inside to spread around my wetness.  The pleasurable sensations increasing with the addition of this conduit.  

I am picturing scenarios:  body parts, different places, positions.  Your hands pushing my legs as wide as possible.  Use me for filthy, dirty fucking.  Invite others to watch.  Invite then to use me, too.  There's a rhythm.   I am alternating pulling and twisting my nipples with one hand, and rubbing my clit intently with the other.  I seep.  I become more swollen -- more erect. The nerve endings from the fingers on my left hand will soon feel as though they unite with my right through my abdomen with the feeling of electricity and melting and convulsions blurring the fantasy of us because my eyes are clenched so tight and my brain ... just shut completely off.  

My orgasms are intense.  

I soften my face and my legs twitch again, releasing the energy outward.  The hawks' lazy floating circles drift up and out and disappear -- the warm air winning and the weight lifting.

I listen to the deep contented breathing of the one I love sleeping next to me to insure I did not disturb the safety of our bed. I smooth down my shirt and relax as I lick my fingers and fade into a dreamy sleep.   

"For in that sleep of ... a little ... death what dreams may come" for sure.