On the Clock
His tongue on my nipple swirls clockwise while his finger flicks my clit: tick tick tick. A second passes with every gasp, every quickening thud of my heart. Moments passing. There was a beginning, and there will be an end.
I am making world enough and time: a long, lazy summer in which to love before we inevitably part. Other commitments. Future plans. Potential careers. Someone else will give him his white picket fence, not me with my wanderlust, my wandering lust.
When time is short, one learns not to be coy.
Here is how I befriend time: I fill its every second with pleasure until they threaten to overflow, until they stretch and relax and lengthen to contain my offering. This second, where our lips hover a breath apart, tasting without touching: it is worth ten of its normal fellows. Time never stops, but I make it flow thick like molasses, leaving behind a sticky warmth and a clinging sweetness on the tongue.
With time our beloved voyeur, this is how we fuck:
Midnight: He is rigid, pointing at the moon overhead, and I slide onto him, locking mouths and hands and legs. We hold there, quivering, minute and hour pressed tight together.
2 o'clock: We sit up and he lays me on my back; I hook my left ankle over his shoulder, and my pelvis tilts to the right as he thrusts, changing the rhythms inside me. We move together like clockwork, my finger stroking down on my clit, his cock pistoning smoothly into my cunt, our hips rising and falling in perfect time.
3 o'clock: With him still inside me, I roll onto my right side and draw my legs up, feeling the pressure shift inside. He kisses my left shoulder, then bites, and I look over it at him and smile into his eyes.
6 o'clock: I turn onto my hands and knees, then drop my forehead to the bed and tilt my pelvis up as his hands grip my hips. The blankets muffle my moans and then my screams as he quickens our pace and my lazy seconds begin to crowd together, ticking by at an accelerating rate. He tugs at my thighs; I straighten them and we fall together full length onto the bed, his legs between mine, his cock deep inside me and his weight grinding my clit into a lump of bedclothes. He kisses my neck and tells me, it's time to come now. I oblige.
9 o'clock: I could stay there with him stretched out on me forever, but time is passing. He lifts himself and I kneel, then drop onto my left side, pulling my legs toward my chest. He fucks me slowly, and I lift my head and kiss him, my fingers woven into his hair.
10 o'clock: I swing my right leg up and over his head and rest my ankle on his shoulder, then jump when he bites it. We laugh. His beat is quickening, and mine races to catch up.
Noon: Slick with sweat, we grind together in a tangle of limbs, bodies pressed fiercely together, temperature rising. I loose his hair from its fastening and it tumbles around his shoulders, golden as sunshine. The shudder of his hips keeps time with the pulse of his lower lip, sucked tenderly into my mouth, once, twice, three times. When he climaxes, the room brightens; in his eyes I see the sweep of the sky.
Time is my friend, but still I would sometimes wish us off the clock. I freeze this moment in my memory: his head on my breast, his hair spilling over my belly, our fingers intertwined and our chests rising and falling together. I slow my breath to make the seconds last, to make them enough.
I am making world enough and time: a long, lazy summer in which to love before we inevitably part. Other commitments. Future plans. Potential careers. Someone else will give him his white picket fence, not me with my wanderlust, my wandering lust.
When time is short, one learns not to be coy.
Here is how I befriend time: I fill its every second with pleasure until they threaten to overflow, until they stretch and relax and lengthen to contain my offering. This second, where our lips hover a breath apart, tasting without touching: it is worth ten of its normal fellows. Time never stops, but I make it flow thick like molasses, leaving behind a sticky warmth and a clinging sweetness on the tongue.
With time our beloved voyeur, this is how we fuck:
Midnight: He is rigid, pointing at the moon overhead, and I slide onto him, locking mouths and hands and legs. We hold there, quivering, minute and hour pressed tight together.
2 o'clock: We sit up and he lays me on my back; I hook my left ankle over his shoulder, and my pelvis tilts to the right as he thrusts, changing the rhythms inside me. We move together like clockwork, my finger stroking down on my clit, his cock pistoning smoothly into my cunt, our hips rising and falling in perfect time.
3 o'clock: With him still inside me, I roll onto my right side and draw my legs up, feeling the pressure shift inside. He kisses my left shoulder, then bites, and I look over it at him and smile into his eyes.
6 o'clock: I turn onto my hands and knees, then drop my forehead to the bed and tilt my pelvis up as his hands grip my hips. The blankets muffle my moans and then my screams as he quickens our pace and my lazy seconds begin to crowd together, ticking by at an accelerating rate. He tugs at my thighs; I straighten them and we fall together full length onto the bed, his legs between mine, his cock deep inside me and his weight grinding my clit into a lump of bedclothes. He kisses my neck and tells me, it's time to come now. I oblige.
9 o'clock: I could stay there with him stretched out on me forever, but time is passing. He lifts himself and I kneel, then drop onto my left side, pulling my legs toward my chest. He fucks me slowly, and I lift my head and kiss him, my fingers woven into his hair.
10 o'clock: I swing my right leg up and over his head and rest my ankle on his shoulder, then jump when he bites it. We laugh. His beat is quickening, and mine races to catch up.
Noon: Slick with sweat, we grind together in a tangle of limbs, bodies pressed fiercely together, temperature rising. I loose his hair from its fastening and it tumbles around his shoulders, golden as sunshine. The shudder of his hips keeps time with the pulse of his lower lip, sucked tenderly into my mouth, once, twice, three times. When he climaxes, the room brightens; in his eyes I see the sweep of the sky.
Time is my friend, but still I would sometimes wish us off the clock. I freeze this moment in my memory: his head on my breast, his hair spilling over my belly, our fingers intertwined and our chests rising and falling together. I slow my breath to make the seconds last, to make them enough.