by Maria Williamson
(07/25/07)
I am wearing a red plaid skirt that comes almost to my ankles, flat-heeled ballet slipper shoes and a white long-sleeved shirt with tucks that buttons down the front. My long straight hair is pulled back in a ponytail and you tell me that I look like a school girl. It is the first time we've seen each other since we had a serious disagreement two days ago and we are both feeling tentative. The thing we argued over seems minor now, as so often happens, but at the time I cried and then was angry at myself for crying. You were frustrated, then angry, then wisely decided that we shouldn't talk about this any more right then. We were both miserable, not only because neither of us could make the other come around to our way of thinking, but also because of the very fact of arguing. Neither of us wanted to hurt the other, and yet we did. I asked you if perhaps you would be better off if I just went away and left you alone, but you said, "I don't want that." And now we hesitate before getting close to one another, and I sit on the kitchen floor and play with the cat.
But once we do get close we are holding each other as if we really thought we might not get another chance. You kiss me, but not for long, because you are caressing me in a way you haven't done before, and with a new urgency. Strong hands on my back and then my behind. Then somehow between my legs and you are touching me there while we stand in the hall until my legs grow weak and you take my hand and lead me into the living room, push the coffee table out of the way and guide me to sit on the sofa.
"Pull up your skirt," you instruct me. You help me take off my satiny red panties and toss them aside. And almost before I know what is happening, you are kneeling in front of me, between my knees, so close. You tell me you want to kiss me "down there." Your mouth is soft, exploring, then more insistent. My legs are trembling. Your tongue is a heat-seeking missile that sets off explosions in my body. It knows precisely where and exactly how. Before I am completely lost I call out your name, try to sit up.
"Please," I beg, and I am fumbling with your belt but you move my hands away saying, "Let me." You take your gorgeous cock in hand and stroke it against me where your mouth has just been, twice, three times; it's a sensation more silky satiny than those red panties or anything else that I can imagine. We stare into each other's eyes, your beautiful hazel eyes now dark with desire. Then you're inside me and we both cry out with the pleasure.
I love you! Yes, do that! Yes, yes! I love you!
When you slip free I have to help you to stand, help to pull up your shorts and pants. Find my panties and my shoes. Push the coffee table back where it belongs. We're both a bit dazed, a little shaky but suffused with a warm glowing feeling. We get a drink from the fridge and go out to the front porch, sit in the swing together, tell each other that everyone has disagreements and we're glad we can come out on the other side and suddenly we have agreed to disagree. And since there is really nothing else that we can think of that we disagree on, it's okay. We hold hands and gently rock the swing and watch the world go by and everything is all right, better than all right, everything is amazingly perfect.
