Weekend Pass

The celebrity hall pass -- a hypothetical situation where one finds themselves within the proximity and ability to have sex with a person of their choosing, no strings, no ramifications, no problems, no questions, no guilt.  Top 3.  

My list has changed over the years, but began with -- in no particular order and revealing my age very much indeed:  

LL Cool J -- "Lady's Love Cool James Todd Smith." Yes, I did. When he'd lick his lips and tell me what his mamma said to do in that boxing ring ... the perfect combination of soft and hard that could make me question my plans for college.    

David Duchovny -- knowing more about him now than I did when I yearned of his existence playing Fox Mulder, perhaps he'd take me up on on the offer?  He can be so pained. He feels it (yes, I know he's an actor). His mouth is ... dirty.  In my memory, he describes a cheesecake drizzled in a decadent white or dark chocolate ganache with clotted cream and a raspberry or strawberry or some kind of berry compote as garnish.  And sprinkles.

Lenny Kravitz.  Ok.  He is still on my list.  Have you seen this man? Admit it.  He's on your list, too.  

Wouldn't it be lovely to spend a weekend ...

Fucking.

And Fucking again.

Shower.

Go out for food and drink.

Playing.

Returning to a hotel?   I didn't think the details through...

Barely making it through the door before wanting more.

Collapsing into each other for sleep.

Waking again with the light.

Fucking again.

And again.

Upon arrival to an agreed upon city, we would meet at a hotel.  Whomever arrives first would check in and go up to the room.  If it were me, I'd freshen and be anxious.  If it were you, you'd be patiently waiting on my arrival.  I'd knock.  No need for mannerly introductions, this isn't a mixer, we know what the agenda is. 

Pull me through the door and press me against the wall.  Our kisses hungry as if we've never heard of any other sustenance besides spit.  No time to get clothing completely removed -- this is not romance, I want you inside me immediately.  

In this moment, there is nothing other than breathy grabbing and thrusting and fulfillment of what seems an eternity of anticipation and want.  A very quick introduction, but we have the entire weekend for an encore.

Now, I'll freshen -- taking in the bathroom, noticing the adorable hotel soaps, tiny shampoos and lotions that smell of oddly coupled things:  bergamot and white moss, cocoanut and sandalwood, Italian summer and ginger, you and me. 

Free of traveling grime and clothes, I join you on the bed.  A bed is useful for two things.  Sleeping and fucking.  We will not be sleeping now.  This is the time to spare no effort, but we can move deliberately and slowly, ensuring each touch is memorized.  Every molecule consumed by fingertips and tongues, tactile tasting devouring swollen and dripping offerings.  Getting to know the truthful honesty of things mentioned as preferences.  I do love to be kissed on my neck.  I do love a strong hand.  I do love to give power. I do love to be worshipped.  Nothing else matters until we've become very intimately acquainted with every shuddering nerve until exhausted we sleep.

Waking to find you here at my back, arms encircling, pulling me close, erect ... let's begin this day right.  The brothers Kellogg would be entirely disappointed in our decision for breaking the fast both in calorie intake but also in enjoying fleshy pleasures.  

Let's then have showers and pretend to be normal as we get ready and find some sort of coffee or espresso or tea and walk in the sun. I have this fantasy of pretending I'm interesting.  I want to go to a gallery and view art and talk about what we see. I want to go to a sidewalk cafe and observe others as they observe us.  I would delight in every word spoken, entranced in your sexy intelligence and life experiences and the cleverly silly things that make me giggle stupidly while I sit across from you, my toes touching your legs.

Others will be jealous of me.   They will look at us and know exactly what we do, and imagine what we are. 

It won't be long before the proper need for privacy is calling us back to the hotel.   I have already forgotten what we have eaten as I am hungry again for you inside me...

In the afternoon's shadows we find an alley for you to hike my summer dress to my waist and bend me over while I brace my arms against the rough exterior of a brick building?  Parting my legs by nudging my feet wider while you wrench your zipper down.  My cunt already wet from your voice.  Fuck me while your hands search for something to grip -- my dress, my hips, my elbows, my shoulders, my tits.  Eager and sweaty grunting. Sodden undergarments are discarded in a trash bin as we leave.  Cum oozing from my cunt as we attempt to return to our room.

When we finally make it through the doorway, it is the floor where you'll splay me to lap the latest deposit you've filled me with.

It is the late afternoon and I don't want to think of Sunday.  

I must remember to drink water, but I want is you.

Saturday evening, the bar downstairs.  My hair is unkempt.  A little sheen on my skin from today's untidy activities.  Wind swept.  Free. You always look put together and gorgeous.  We invite conversation with others and entertain thoughts of inviting them to join us.

But now, I want you alone.   For the final moments before our weekend ends.  Softly stroking and soothing, aftercare and what could be considered basking if the sun had not set hours earlier.  When you wake, I am already departed.  Thank you.

My souvenirs from this weekend:  Slight rug burns, a scrape from bricks on my cheek, and an intense magnetic need to return to you as soon as possible.  I won't call it a come back.  We've been here for years.  

I wonder if celebrity crushes have lists.