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A Night in Grey Satin
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A Night in Grey Satin A conversation with a troubled friend started me remembering...... Nothing that follows is made up. It just happened a life time ago, before Harry Potter was born and when people still thought the Chicago Pizza Pie Factory was a good place to have lunch. It was August I think, September maybe, and the news was well and truly out that the Lioness and I were lovers. We won't go into the background of the story, as it would make us all feel bad and break the flow. Suffice it to say, I was trying to block out the feeling that my life was about to fall apart completely, and I just had to see her. It was late, but she just said, "Of course, come straight over." I drove for an hour at a speed I had better not mention, particularly as it might give Peter (wasted) another chance to call me a fuckwit, and that would make us all feel bad and break the flow of the story too. She came to the door in nothing but a silver / grey satin night shirt. I can see the picture in my head right now. I felt my hand slide sensuously over her back as I held her close and kissed her, crushing her gorgeous breasts against my chest. Satin is such a wonderfully contradictory material. It doesn't have the luxury of silk, or the crisp delicacy of cotton. It's not what you would call up market, but on her it was all kinds of sexy. Holding her through that fabric was like holding her soapy and naked in the shower. I was excited and mentally in turmoil. Neither of us wanted to sleep so we watched "The Princess Bride" on video and I think I got caught up in the story. I didn't know that in less than a year my life would begin to mirror Westley's as I began Scaling the Cliffs of Insanity and faced Torture in the Pit of Despair. But that is another tale which would make us all feel bad, and anyway, most of you have heard it before. What you haven't heard is what happened that night. Her flat mate had made herself scarce and after the film was over L took me to her room. I think I must have been wondering if she was okay with the whole thing because I think I remember asking her if it was okay if we made love. "I didn't know if you wouldd be able to," was her response; that phrase I do remember. I thought it was crazy - the whole reason I was there was because I didn't just want to, I had to, the same as I had to breathe. I still find it hard to describe the effect being in her presence had on me. I don't think I was ever with her without being at least slightly turned on. Mostly it was as if her eyes were hypnotic and her skin gave off some kind of aphrodisiac pheromone. For all I know maybe it did. If so I was like an addict, always needing my next fix, never quite right if I had to come down, never to be cured, even when the supply was gone. Normally that sort of woman is dangerous, but she was kind and healthy, unselfish and totally wholesome. But sexy like a twist of lemon in spring water. I loved her already - it had been growing on me for a couple of years - but I fell irrevocably in love with her that night. She absorbed all my hopes and fears, accepted and loved my faults, forgave me my weakness, knowing she in part had caused it. I kissed her neck and she lay back and stretched out under me. Physically she fitted me like a wetsuit – her arms and my shoulders, her breasts perfectly against my chest, her hips interlocked with mine. Our minds were linked somehow too; to this day I still can't quite explain it. We wrapped our limbs around each other and rocked our bodies into orgasm. I don't recall the rest of that night. We probably slept in the end but I can't remember. I don't know, maybe I never quite woke up. |
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I know what you mean, but actually I don't know if you can choose it, or avoid it, I think if it happens it just happens. I still think it was worth it.
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Wow... evry cryptic, yet compelling. Nice job with the writing, dude.  Elevate me... 
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Wow... evry cryptic, yet compelling. Nice job with the writing, dude.
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