What if one of those nights, on your way home, the booze and tiredness would bring you enough resiliency to let your inner self come out. That self that whispers to you on certain nights dreams of a sapphic softness… What if I was the one to turn you over? Imagine…
Drunk on vodka and dancing, we finally go upstairs, in the fog of the night ending that makes everything possible. I watch you moving around the bed in your underwear. You put your glasses down and your eyes are big and glowing. You’re beautiful. Your skin is like honey, warm and sweet. You lay down next to me, freezing cold. Lights off.
We talk, putting the world to rights like we always do, and the words are getting less and less frequent as sleep is taking over. In the darkness of the room, I listen to you breathing. You turn to the other side and I move on my back. I can make out the curve of your hip under the sheet, and hesitate for a while before resting my hand there. And I wait. Your breathing seems to have been taken away by the feeling of my skin on yours. Still I count the never-ending seconds before figuring out what to do next. Then you start breathing again, calmly, steadily. You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything. You’re allowing me to push further.
I snuggle closer and follow the line of your hip with the tip of my fingers, up to your shoulder. My body brushes against yours and you shiver. I slightly touch your neck with infinite care. I try to be as gentle as ever, ready to put everything to an end at any moment, at any sign, at any flinching in recoil from you. You sigh with pleasure. My hand flat on your belly, I hesitate before eventually crossing that short line; when a hug turns into an embrace and a friend turns into a lover. You’re on the edge, you can say stop but you won’t. I know you won’t. From your skin rise fragrances of pure lust.
My hand goes down, visiting every inch of your belly that feels like burning embers, until it reaches down and rustles with your black-laced boxer. Releasing the pressure, I start drawing the woven lines, flowers and arabesques, and that blue satin ribbon still hiding you. I feel your warmth through the fabric. You bend one leg, allowing me to go further, and I know you want to. I can tell. Through the lace, with just the tip of my index, I circle round your mount of Venus, slowly go down your flaming lips and start again. And again. Until your breathing becomes ragged and my fingers are damped with liquid fire. Now I can no longer ignore the unbearable lust exuding from you. You’re melting.
I’ll be gentle, Aphro. I swear…
I tug on the satin ribbon and you make it easy for me by rolling on your back. I pull on the fabric of your boxer and slowly glide it down to your ankles at the end of the bed. I remain still and take a moment. You’re naked under me, willing to try something new and mind-blowing. I shall take my time…
I make my way up your body without hurry, grazing every patch of bare skin with my lips. The back of your knee is so sensitive, and the skin of your thighs so thin…My trail of kisses stops at your hipbone. I move in between your legs and you allow me in by spreading them further. I barely touch you with my nimble tongue and drown myself in you. You’re quivering. I want to drive you close to the edge but never let you go. I want to be unlike anything you’ve know so far, the perfect opposite of those crude men you used to complain about. Those careless men who’d get screams out of you like they’d get a splinter out of their foot, quickly and painfully. Those blind men who’d miss the soft blond hairs rising in waves on the inside of your thighs, almost invisible. Those ignorant men who certainly wouldn’t dare looking at these delicate lips wettening little by little.
I lick your sweet juices and move up to your clitoris. Without ever touching it, I circle it, I deceive it, fluttering around and keeping in tune with the vibrations from your belly, postponing the breaking point. Your leg goes behind my back, your nails fiercely clawing the sheets. It’s time. Light as a feather, I slide the tip of my tongue up your clit, down again, stroking every inch of it and taking it whole in my mouth. You’re unexpectedly giving in, losing yourself into loud moans when I collect your nectar from the source and gliding in more deeply.
My fingers get bolder and bolder, and my tongue moves away to make room for two of them.
Your breathing’s turned into a panting that increases with every thrust. You can’t hold anything back anymore, your words merged into inarticulated sighs. I go and I come deeper and deeper inside you, carefully, and every time my ring finger slides down your soaked cleft. When it unintentionally hits that soft spot of delicate flesh for the first time, your back arches like a cat’s. Then the second time, when I press it a little more, I hear you gasp. And when finally my ring finger enters you with most gentleness, your hands come crashing down my hair, grasping them fiercely. My fingers and my tongue are now moving in unison and I increase my ministrations in a delicious crescendo.
The sheets get drenched with your sweet essence.
I move up to lie next to you, still, and wait for your breathing to become regular again.
Eager to start again.
by Trinity Words
translated from the French by IMNSX
music by IMNSX
Photo by Cathy Peylan
The original French version: Aphro, imagine un peu