Can you taste my sweat, and perhaps, just a little of the oozing taste of my excitement, begging you all on it’s own to continue. You press harder with the tip of your tongue, and find an inviting passage inside to the inner most depths of my physical being. Unknowingly, penetrating the inner most depths of my soul at the same time. I’ve been craning my neck during this performance of your talents with your magic tongue. Trying to see your face, to see if you could possibly be feeling just a portion of the wonderfulness you are giving me. You’re aware, almost as though you want me to watch you bring me to the edge. Through the haze of my labored breathing and the electricity I’m feeling in my groin, I realize that may not be such a bad thing. But yet, I find myself inching backwards, hoping to gain purchase up the roots of the tree. I can feel the bark scratching the back of my neck as I urge myself against the tree, but only dimly, as if in a dream — later, at home, I will brush. Fascinated by the sudden torrent, it took me a moment or two to notice you by my side, also wide-eyed and wondering just where the fuck this monsoon had come from. I noticed your perfume first. A delicate, sweet and fruity smell that was more refreshing than attention-grabbing, and another note beneath the delectation that was deeper, woodier, much more primal. Urgent, even. I took a chance to glance at you, to take a snapshot of your face in this moment and commit it to memory. The grey-blue of those wide eyes. The adorable nose made edgy with a small and neat septum piercing. The summer freckles that were beginning to fade. The full, dusky pink lips that could fill hearts with a smile and then break them all with a pout... My reverie was broken by a rapturous break of thunder so deep the old Victorian walls shook a little. You caught me looking and broke into a toothy grin. “I bloody love a thunderstorm!” I said, before an awkward silence set in. “How awesome is that rain?!”“It’s.
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