TUESDAY, JUNE 03, 2008
Not Quite the Ghostly Lover –
one of many possible openings ——–
by Laurel and Aisling
My last memory is of a the delectable fragrange of a loaf of freshly baked darkly brown bread. I haven’t had this kind of bread in years. The combination of dark and wholesome makes me smile. This smile does not relate to my slightly refurbished hoodlum date. I run my fingers over the sharp crust, edgy,a bit flaky.The sweetly blackened crust surrounds and suppports the moistness of the this bread that I soon will taste. Before I gift myself with the experience of this bread; I reach to slice a triangle of the brown bread for my soon to be lover. I run my fingers down the edge of the sharp achingly cold knife. I feel the air currents collide violently, willing to slice my offering of desire. I see no reflection in the knife, though the silver surface is cleanly polished and clear.The sexy man of the streets, reaches strong coffin carving fingers possessively towards me. He seems to make a brief effort to combine possessiveness with gentle searching, he does not succeed – I am glad.My breasts arch towards our first garnet glass of a stags leap cabernet. His fingers are now exploring my rings quesioningly; I sense a barely held back possessiveness. His body langauge is far too controlling for a first assignation. I remind myself this is the kind of lover I want tonight, may he be damn good in bed. I offer my opening hand willing to play with the sensations his fingers evoke. My body responds as if this contact is a virgin massage, by a masseur who knows what he is doing, after a six months abstinence from massage. A masseur inspired as a lover without overtly crossing any particular lines of no return.It seems I will not be able to finish my offering of a slice of nourishing brown bread. Before I have finished carving the slice from the whole loaf, he, as slowly as a knowing masseur making sure every part of my body awakens. This stranger carefuly separates the sharp blade from my warm fingers.