In Praise of Pulses

I woke up this morning having had two and a half consecutive sex dreams. One, with a person I recently met and barely know, one with a person my mind created, and one (here's the half) interaction with a person I dated perhaps six years ago who I still see from time to time that didn't involve sex at all, but rather, a very sexually charged interaction.

He was at a party full of our professional colleagues. He was there in one of his tweed suit coats, a scholarly tie, and his close cut, neatly trimmed beard. It was dark in the room, which looked to be a gymnasium or a rented hall. The attention on him read as his birthday party, but the electricity in the air read as holiday high end work party. For some reason, he had been told to close his eyes and that he would have to be able to identify people by their voices. He was laughing along guessing everyone quickly and correctly, all the while smiling.  The crowd had spread out away from him as the game dissolved- heading to grab another bottled beer or plastic cup of punch from across the room.

I knew he didn't know I was there, and there were only two or three people still standing around  him not really paying attention. He stood there, his eyes still closed, still smiling waiting for the next person to identify.

I step up behind him, my stilettos giving off their sturdy, hollow clicks upon the floor as I approach him.  I don't say anything but, instead, press the front of my body against his back. I feel him stiffen a bit and jokingly say "Okay, now who is that?" but I don't respond. Instead, still pressing myself against his back, I reach around and slide my hands down his forearms almost to his hands, run them up his stomach to his chest, place my hands on his shoulders and turn him around. I put my cheek against his cheek, hold it there for three full breaths, then tilt my head back and to the side to expose my neck, leaving it just under his bottom lip.  I want him to smell my cologne being heated with the place upon my throat that pulsates the most. With his eyes still closed, he turns his face and mouth towards my neck, breathes in. Recognition washes down his face.

He smiles, some combination of memory and arousal and his cock against his pants and trying to keep things PG and good humored, waiting for me to say something as the game rules state.

I turn slowly, so that he can feel the turn on his body, and let my stilettos walk me back through the crowd, the echos of my heels getting further and further away until I am out the door.


k.

P.S. Last night taught me that talking to strangers can lead to the most beautiful angels materializing to help you do exactly what you want to do. Here is to rare and necessary magic.

(image from roserum tumblr)