is me is really me

The room is unbelievably warm, as in stifling. But frankly, I couldn’t care less. All that mattered was I was with him. Again. I needed to kiss him. Desperately. Thoroughly. Passionately.

Giddy as I was greeting him at the train station, as if I got to do that everyday, it wasn’t enough. Kissing him never quenches my thirst for him. His touch, his scent, his taste. Him.

Kissing him. I could kiss him for hours on end. My body responds to him in such a way that it’s complete submission long before he touches any part of me. Sorry. Where was I?

It was unseasonably warm for that time of year. It was well past Labor Day and yet the temperatures were still hovering around 72-degrees. Unfortunately, the hotels were already on a Fall schedule and the thermostats were set at a balmy 78! Add to that the odd fact that both of us, individually, run warmer than the usual 98.6 degrees and we are slick with sweat a few minutes into a moderately chaste make-out session. Nonetheless, I gasp and squish when he catches my lower lip between his teeth and growls. God I love that low, sexy growl and the way my toes curl in anticipation of what’s to come. He plunders my mouth and his hands wreak havoc with my heart rate by the simple act of running them up and down my back, slowly, firmly, confidently. He pulls away before I’m satisfied but silences my protests by pushing me up against the wall so he can lean in and capture the pulse in my neck with his mouth. “Ohh” I in total submission. And he knows it.

His hands are no longer gentle, one grabbing both of mine and holding them above my head as the other begins to undress me. Slowly. Tortuously. Deliciously. I slip in and out of fevered consciousness, wave over wave only serves to stir something insatiable from deep within me. The time passes slowly and yet all too quickly…a continual quagmire.