The Flow

A few weeks ago I met up with ‘The Love of my Life.’
You know, the one you never quite got over although you did manage to move on.
We hadn’t met in nearly 25 years and I won’t deny it was an emotional experience for both of us.
The circumstances of our parting on that cold, autumn night so many years ago were not of our choosing. The memories of our final evening, of the desperate expression on his face as my mum shut the door on him were still vivid, though less raw, in my mind. After our coffee, lunch, walk and hugs goodbye, I found myself repeatedly thinking back to the happiness of Our Time: the laughter, the passion, the exploration of places and each other- and I remembered that amazing night.
He had been a terrific innovator in day to day life as well as in the bedroom. He got us out of so many scrapes in our travels, found work where others failed, found humour when the ether around us turned mundane. In bed we both, for the first time in our young lives discovered the fun, variety and passion in lovemaking. It was he, I recalled, who dollopped Nutella on me – on my pussy, that is – and ate off every last bit, driving me to a writhing, heated mass of frustrated rapture before entering me.
But that night we were on another level entirely.
We had travelled for weeks in our old car and had finally arrived in a hot, dusty town in the Australian desert, hundreds of kilometres from anywhere else. For days we had camped and eaten noodles. Shaken by the corrugations, we were plastered red by an all-pervading dust that seeped through zips and bags and discoloured my lovely whites- permanently. When we rolled in to town we went straight to the hotel, ordered cold beers and went for a wash in the bathroom.
We checked in that night to a simple room on the first floor of the hotel.
I can still remember the doors opening onto a wide, communal balcony that ran the entire length of the hotel. And the bathroom, shared at the far end of a creaky corridor. And the ridiculously soft mattress on our bed, which, mercifully, didn’t creak at all despite its ancient constitution and cast iron frame.
Anyway, the point is, I remember that night even now.
Our drive out to a gorge, the still water and the surrounding, timeless rock walls reflecting a glow ranging from soft pink to angry red from the fast- setting sun. I remember that unique tangy smell of the earth as it sighed, I thought, after its day of being roasted by that searing sun; the beers outside in the hotel garden after our massive steaks, the myriad of stars that splattered the sky as we gazed up spotting missioned satellites.
And I remember how you started massaging me as I lay showered, scrubbed, tingling and naked, face down on our bed. How you worked your fingers deep into my rattled muscles, how you pulled firmly on each and every digit, loosening tissue and ligaments, leaving my fingers and toes beautifully relaxed and refreshed. You worked up my calves, pressing with thumbs, kneading with fists, exploding so softly hardened knots, easing tendons, revitalising tired flesh.
You, too, were naked and it seemed, I suppose, just how it should be as you worked up my legs, kissing briefly the back of my knee – you KNEW I loved that: I can remember you chuckling as you did it. And the little goose bumps that sprung up on my flanks as a result! You loved those.
You took a while working my thighs, pushing hard along my skin, probing the gnarls deep below, easing out the strains, before repeating it all – so. deliciously. slowly. – on my buttocks and then my flanks and back.
You did this thing where you ran your fist up my spine, stopping at every vertebra to push it down and stretch it, it seemed, in its seat. Your thumbs ran up that muscle either side, once again loosening the little tight buds which had formed over the jolting journey.
By now I was incapacitated by a pervasive lethargy that allowed my mind to wander and my body to pool into enervated indolence wherever you touched. I remember exposing my tired neck to you as you gently rotated my shoulders and ran thumbs smoothly up to seek the smallest knotted resistance at the base of my skull.
I could feel your body, warm against mine, relaxed, emanating a soft heat. It was lovely that you were there – just there – as the strains were banished from my body.
I rolled over at some point and you started again at my feet after placing a light, lingering kiss on my lips. I stretched, elongated, cat-like as you moved down and smoothed my skin, released tension from toes, ankles, knees, hips – tenderly lifting, stretching out to full length each leg, gently rotating it, one hand supportive under an upper thigh, your grip firm on my calf.
My flanks you pressed in together, pushing up to my ribs that small ripple of soft skin which then subsided to smoothness. My ribs also were gently pressured to bend oh-so-slightly as they stretched under my skin. On up to my shoulders and clavicle, bones urged into relaxation, muscles mellowed under your touch. My arms, too, were soothed, swivelled, softened as you stretched up to work on my fingers, your own body now taut against mine.
I was depleted so deliciously. Not exhausted, but languid, loose-limbed yet quickened by your touch and the lassitude it had brought.
So when you kissed me again so lightly on my lips, I felt a warmth kindling throughout my body and that rising desire to engulf you. I pushed against your glow and kissed back gently, our lips whispering against each other, before you left my mouth to massage with your mouth my cheek, chin, neck.
You grazed the sides of my breasts – each of them – sparking a puckering of my hardened, thrilled nipples which I would have gleefully thrust into your mouth for you to savour if I had had the chance.
My waist, belly, hips – none escaped the gentle ministrations of your soft, wondrous lips and the wafting warmth of your breath.
You traced me down to my toes, taking each in your mouth, massaging yet again, but this time with your tongue engulfing them in an ambrosial warmth. I lay, still, stretched, marvelling at the delectable warmth seeping over me, as you worked a succulent trail back up my legs. I was aware of the stillness – the gentle whirr of the ceiling fan pushing strands of night air onto us, but otherwise silence. A relaxed tension as your mouth arrived back at my hip.
So delicately your tongue traced the gentle valley down to my sex.
I shifted slightly to let you in.
You traced your tongue along the line of my lips to the the lowest point before so exquisitely, gently flickering it back up. I recall the glorious sensation as I parted my legs to let you in fully. Your massaging and manipulation had left my muscles so placid and loose-ligamented that it felt to me as if my legs floated apart to let you flow over and into me, to access my blissfull, self-indulged body.
And that’s when it really began.
You ran your tongue, broad and flat, along my lips, over my mound and up to my belly button. A short, stabbing, electric flutter ran to my throat and you carried on up. And just as you reached the base of my elated breasts, I felt your chest, having edged my legs yet further apart, brushing my pussy, your hairs tickling mine in a delightful, soft caress that urged a welcoming, moist, warm response from me. My back arched to present my elated breasts to your mouth, gasping as you took each in and rolled that little hard raspberry nipple hard against the roof with your tongue, while I felt your stomach, flat, muscled, trickle up to replace your chest on my lips and mound. My legs parted yet further to let you fill me when you got there, when the moment was right.
But you left my breasts and stroked your tongue up to my throat, occasionally squeezing exalted skin between your lips, my head tilting back as I yielded to your velvety pressure. You sampled my neck and chin before plunging into my ravenous, cavernous mouth at the very moment I felt your manhood come to rest against me just there. I arched, raising my hips to receive you in your fullness. But you raised yourself up, towering over me and flowed – yes, flowed, – in one smooth, rippling movement back to my enraptured pussy.
No shuffling, no shifting, no awkward repositioning. Deserting my mouth, you simply rolled up, away and down back to delight me with your tongue. A small flickering and a long, deep probe elicited a gasp from me and I found my hands had come down to hold your sides as you, once again, in one smooth, long, langorous motion, trickled your tongue over my quivering mound and on up over the plain of my belly – the stab in my belly button, an exhilarating tickle of each nipple…
But this time I was aware of the vitalising stroke of your body against my cunt. Again the pressuring apart of my legs, the soft, fibrous drag of your chest over my galvanised lips, its cresting of my mound, the following ripple of your stomach kissing, glossing, buffing my heat and welcoming throb. I anticipated – yearned – for the arrival of your cock at my entrance. When he got there, just as your tongue sank deep into my mouth in a luscious, piercing thrust, you let him glide over my searching lips. I felt his heat, the veined texture, a pulse as he smoothed over and rested momentarily on my mound before you left me once more.
My upper body folded up to follow your flow as you tilted back on your arms, your round, firm buttocks falling away then rocking down and rolling upward just as your mouth sank once more to engulf me. You ate open mouthed, lips hungrily sampling my fleshiness, my moisture. Your top lip found that spot and soon your tongue was there too, causing me to gyrate my hips and push into your mouth, begging you to take all of me.
You slowly left me to come up once more and this time as my glistening body luxuriated in your travel, your soft moist tongue as vanguard to your broad, fulfilling body you allowed your straining cock to enter a fraction of the way into me so that I cried out and twisted, seeking more.
And as you left to flow back down once more, I whispered,
“What are you DOING?”
And you replied:
“Its The Flow, my love. Just go with The Flow”
And I did.
I relaxed and allowed this all-of-body massage to manipulate me into glittering, sparkling, throbbing indulgence. Until at the end of one of your tongue’s travels, as you crested my chin and once more fell into my waiting mouth, our lips crushing, I felt that long, rippling sensation of you entering me, soothing, satisfying as you ran your length so slowly and smoothly in.
Filling me.
Expanding me.
Agonising me as you ran out of length and pushed against that spot.
My legs rose to absorb you, my hands grasping your buttocks. I raised my shoulders to pull myself onto you and you into me.
We rested there. Enthralled. Bonded. For just a few seconds.
You stiffened and I felt the pulsing throb of your cream washing warmly into me as we squeezed into each other, me gripping your shaft to sap every drop from you as I shook and shuddered with you, grinding my teeth, gasping at the engulfing paroxysms.
That night I really remember for leisured lovemaking. No frantic rabbitty shagging. But an unspoken gentleness, adoring worship, passionate appreciation, all climaxed wordlessly – because words weren’t needed – as you so tenderly gave all you had to me, I gave all I could to you and we filled and completed each other in that unhurried intensity.
It was wonderful.
And I wish we could do it again.