2000-07-25 - 07:17:51
Almost-Got-Laid-Glow

Almost-Got-Laid-Glow

Pierre came over last night. Chuckled at my zany story from the weekend.

I usually wait for him to offer a massage, and when he does, I always say "Is the Pope Catholic?" But last night, with an hour to kill before we went out to a movie, I asked for one.

I stripped down to my underwear, laid out a large towel on the living room rug. Pierre has the most amazing hands. Which seem to specialize in tailbone massage. Let's just say my chakras were humming by the time he was done.

As always, he kissed the base of my neck to signal the massage's conclusion, lay down beside me, curled into my soothed, throbbing, aromatherapy-oil-drenched skin.

"That was so amazing," I said. "I love you, Pierre."

His hands continued to lightly caress my neck, my shoulders, my lower back, my most-appreciative tailbone. When those fingers began to travel beneath the waistband of my briefs--clenching and molding and kneading my butt--I began to unravel. The massage's postscript uncoiled me like a snake. I grew taut and exuberant. Looking at him lying there, eyes closed, hands roving.

Wanting him. After all my tender rebuffs of Pierre's advances lately, there I was, aching and ready to jump his bones. He groped my crotch; I groped his.

We were off to the races, not the movie.

Rolled up on top of him, my underwear-clad crotch pulsating against his jeans. Began to lick his face like a lollypop, tongue his biceps spilling out of his tee-shirt, tracing a delicious line down the sleeves to his armpits. He moaned, his mouth opened to mine.

Within moments, Pierre's energy cramped. A pause button depressed. His mouth opened less and less to my tongue's advances.

Hoisting myself up on my arms, I looked down at him quizzically. Quietly, the sweet young man informed me that he didn't feel like going any further after all.

Taking a deep breath, I said that was cool. After all, I reminded him, the last few times I'd been the one to forestall, to nip sex in the bud.

My throb undulated through me unabated, but I shifted gears. As we lay cuddling on the floor, I laughed, said "We seem to need to grope each other's dicks every time we get together, just to make sure everything is still in working-order." He giggled his wise old man's giggle.

Pierre and I have navigated this puzzling terrain often; we've become pro's at mapping out what feels right. The space between us a lush laboratory of love, lust and friendship.

I got dressed, and we headed out to see the Maritime flick "The New Waterford Girl". All my pores were open and I felt like a giddy fourteen year old. Connected with Pierre, throbbingly alive.

Delighted to inhabit my unpredictable, beautiful body.

Previous | Next