I saw your picture.
Male good, muscular and tall. You were lying on a white lounge chair, covered with a white silk, in an appealing position.
Source: pianostreet.com
As I watched you, my beetles began to get under my skin. A provocative picture, with the intention of “see me women, in all my nakedness, all my splendor!” I conquer you with my look centimeter by centimeter. I start from the long soles with fine skin. I often wonder how men have soft skin on the soles, like babies ?! Maybe due to the fact that they do not bother to wear all kinds of uncomfortable shoes, strap, fashionable heels, shoes cut to the front or back. Maneuvering the soles absorbs me, I want to inspect all the physical work carried out on the field, in the garden or on the field, but I do not give any tricks to stop me. The white lanyard that stretches your body contrasts marvelously with your shiny, glittering slip. The picture exposed to tastes, I can enjoy it as much as I want. And I dream of climbing my fingers like little creatures, from the sole to the ankle so that they can clearly feel the bones of their composition, then I go up, towards the slightly raised legs. I touch the relaxed muscles and I calm myself, they are in their place and I imagine the carved shape of the legs while walking. I get hungry by a zealous spring up to your knees. Men only reach their legs closely only during sex, otherwise they stay with them open , being more comfortable, or to offer a view of the belvedere in their subconscious. In the eyes of the woman predestined to walk, seek, long distance the man’s pulp, open non-persistently. The path of visibility and accessibility grows towards a glossy black slip to reveal secrets. I’m walking without thinking over the slip-gaping space and dabbing my little toe and disoriented finger in your navel … it’s hot everywhere … and I start on the hair on your abdomen and chest and I think of the areas with a stumble lying in the sun where the fish swim natural, out of love of freedom. I know I have you in my mental picture, so I’m marching to your little nipples, barely awake from the sunburn. I only touch them gently. You do not sketch any movement, as if you were a subject in the experiment, but I don’t stay too long either on any part of your body. The fingers now start from the hill to the bottom of your body, but from time to time they sit in a sweet, bitter expectation, staring into the valley. The solution is never given early. Some reactions are predictable and some remain in mystery. You suddenly get up and you excuse yourself to talk at the phone. I remain squatting beside the immaculate sunbed and colorful dreams. I’m waiting for you in my memory and in the future of my thoughts. You quickly finished the phone call, proof that it did not interest you. Then I can hear the clink of two beer bottles that you put without a comment on the threshold of the terrace, in the mantle of the lace curtains, the warm summer. It’s a subtle invitation to pleasure, coolness, relaxation. As I stretched my hand after a bottle open and covered with cold peaks, I have the impression that I hear the Ballad for Adeline by Richard Clayderman. I can see your long, sensual fingers, sometimes covered in short hair threads, climbing on the white and black keys alternately, as you close and open your eyes to the fever of interpretation. I feel your flight grows in mine but I let you sing your excitement and subtraction, I help you in my silence to set up, download, see my silhouette and thoughts in playful clouds, feverish gestures hidden in the game the lights … but you sing living the inside music. I raised the bottle of beer to my mouth but I felt it would be sacrilege, you press the sweet and round sounds in a total independence of skills but in a subtle dependence on the moment before. I know that for me you attack so hotly and invasively the notes that are spreading into the pool, enveloping me. I listen to the song and see two birds nestling in the sky, listening to music and convincing me that boats are home to countless love. The floating sadness spreads into an ideological transformation, in waves incolamed with azure surfaces. Waves on the cliff flooded your body, waking the sounds out of silence and amplifying the barely born. You find me in the position of blossoming in dreams, there on the stairs, listening to musical accords and their echo in the cells, raising me in my arms and hiding behind the curtains that are sensitive to any breeze. You take my hand and you take me to a room where you lie down on an imperial bed that suggests that I am a princess and you begin to uncover blue, various shades of blue, scarf tied to my breasts and thighs. Any move to yours seems so natural, in fact, an emergence of nature and the piano that knows how to talk, sing and spell. The proximity between us seems fluid until nothing separates us, nor the insipid or awkward prejudices. I did not know what was coming next, but it did not matter, once the downhill sleigh didn’t stop to just admire, sniff, store for such a long future. You discovered my breasts in their beauty and their size … they were looking appetizing and clean, heavy and incisive … Then you kissed me with the sea salt on your lips and with the sweetness of apple blossoms at your fingertips even with the moonlight just begging in the cheek … touching your lips … how nice it would be to die during a kiss full of waiting and symmetry consumed! You took off my clothes and preconceptions and you gave me inscriptions from the four cardinal points … I felt dismantled just when I felt the richest and I sing with you an overwhelming duet. The fine pianist fingers are lost in the perspective of the body, always descending to the unseen lands, from the eyes to the lips, then to the neck and breasts, where they spend a long time, then continued their walk towards the abdomen and the navel, parks predestined to love …
The exploring fingers in the women’s secrets opened the way for the little prince, raised in nobility, power and importance. There were moments when dreams united in searches and errors, overlaps, and accomplishments, when the little prince entered the Roman abyss as a determined dacian. Your romantic and musical penis penetrated the depths of my breasts, conquering the vagina freaked with life, hunger and gratitude. The woman’s body is always open to gratitude, even in the face of superiority .I let you explore my body that wanted any touch of your fingers that spoiled each flap with so much attention. Each particle was vibrating like a violin string, which accompanies the piano in the room surrounded by the silence of the area we were in. Suddenly I felt your lips on my soft lips, I shuddered when you slid your tongue, taking me by surprise. My nipples were proud and seen through the wet T- shirt, without a bra, which made you look at them and touch them. I heard you how you were moaning of pleasure, how you were making everything vibrating around you. I was left without a voice to make the sounds of pleasure. You have silenced my voice with your kisses that you are no longer sober. I felt how hot liquids dripped out of me, a sign that what you’ve done to me has led me to absolute pleasure, to something I did not even feel that was going on so intensely. That heat I felt then dreaming from you, on my abdomen, throwing you on your back, beside me, in the siphoned bedclothes. The night lay on us, sleeping naked in each other’s arms.
