feckweed

As we sat and talked, a couple of times she edged very close into my personal space. Her movements were experimental. Her moves would come at the end of funny comments, almost as if her laughter propelled her uncontrollably and immediately she would retract back to her spot on the couch accessing her progress.

I began to ebb with her in these movements as if we were together in a boat, on the same wave. As she moved in I too moved in. In the moment before we kissed our foreheads touched and we both knew the games were over. I quickly reached around and held her head to mine and began my descent. I rolled my head down to connect our eyebrows, nose, and finally lips. Hers were softened by her own heat and excitement. When she felt the smoothness of my own, she pressed harder against me.

For the one moment it was pure ecstasy. It felt of freedom and natural affection. This build up was not just a few moments of conversation on the couch. This was the result of constant dialog, constant innuendos, and constant blips of vicariously living a sexual fantasy by whatever means necessary and it was perfect; at least for the moment.

And then, just as fast as it occurred, it went away; logged in the storehouse of things done and things experienced. Chalked up as never to happen again this one simple kiss, a shared experienced, ended and after a moment of realization, all was as it was.