The Virgin Chronicle
It is DEAD ON PERFECT, a proper unveiling. A Deflowering Delight. What is that Bosch painting . . . Garden of Delights? No, Garden of EARTHLY Delights. The first touches, the first tastes and what follows . . . neck, shoulders, shoulder blades, curve of back, lower back, those little hollows above the butt, the butt, the more intimate parts, legs, belly, breasts, back to the neck, and voilà ! But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. We kiss, gently, but oh so sweetly, oh so lovingly, with just the proper hint of what's to come. It isn't one of those mash your face into each other kisses that you see in so many movies. No, it's sexy and it does the trick. It get the juices flowing. And how. So we kiss, and as with so many things in life, one thing leads to another. She undresses me, slowly, kissing all the while, kissing everywhere! Oh! I get under the covers while she undresses in front of me. Oh! Talk about Garden of Delights, EARTHLY or otherwise! I am almost paralyzed with shyness, and naive, but besotted with love, numb with it, in love with it, and though I really don't know how to do it, I want to eat her up, and I don't care where I start, and honestly, no one knows less about this sort of thing, but I have urges that point me in the right direction. Besides, it could hardly be more plain. She sheds her garments, to put it in non-sexual terms, climbs onto the bed, from the foot end of it, and I'm kind of hiding under the sheets, shy me, and she crawls, stealthily like a tigress (trying to get back to sexuality), eyes fixed on mine, coming closer. I'm giddy, trembling, she hovers above me, lowers herself until her lips graze mine (definitely sexy), but the hell with that, I throw my arms around her and pull her to me, and kiss her, and enter some other realm, somewhere where there are no kings or other such pokey things, lips together, and I've seen a lot of movies so I should know how this goes, but it's so much different, many degrees different, and I mean better, in case that isn't clear. I pull her to me, she's on top of the sheet and quilt, which simply will not do. Did I mention we're naked? I'm kind of caught in the moment here. She pulls down the bedding, whump! and now I'm cold, or should be, but are you kidding? Cold? Not hardly. She lies on top of me, and all the goodness in the world, in the universe, in anything greater than the universe, be there such a place, is in us. We mate, or our version of it. That's what we do. Soft, gentle, hard, slow, fast, deep, shallow, wet, dry (not so much dry), heavy, light, firm, soft again, deep again . . . "et cetera, et cetera, et cetera." We do it! Rather, I should say we're in the process. It's happening. We're on our way. I've projected a bit. The timeline has to be set back just a few minutes. So here goes. We're in bed, kissing, shyness gone, we're crazy with passion. Insane with it. At its mercy. I may be a virgin, and I may be shy, but it ends there. I'm ready. One of the hundreds of millions of BEST THINGS about Terri is that she lacks inhibition, and she's curious, and I may be virginal, but she isn't, and I'm yet to know how she knows what she knows, but, frankly, at this particular point in time I DO NOT CARE and she makes my heart go "BOOM BOOM BOOM." We do all this cool stuff, mostly she does, but I'm right in there with her, and we do this especially cool thing—oh, I'm being flippant, when in reality I'm quiet, and all of this is soft and gentle and magical; passionate, but in my quiet way. Many, many, many kisses, equally many caresses, many sighs, many explorations of sensitive and secret places, inducing the most exquisitely intense, sensations. For two people who met only two hours earlier we seem to know our way around each other pretty well, and this kissing is IT, and oh so sweet. We take in each other's warm breath, and I love her, and I didn't even know this was possible, it's all so unbelievable. I've dreamed of something like this for so very long, and I here I am, taking in this lovely woman's breath as she touches me in the very best places, and if there is a more intimate way for two people to exchange love, I can't imagine what it would be, this give and take breath. We do this until I begin to worry about carbon dioxide issues. We take a breath, and she begins to roam. What she finds, hoo-boy! Movies don't do it justice. I may be seventeen, and I've had my little flirtations, and "once or twice I've been on the floor," but this, THIS, is all new to me, if I'm repeating myself, sorry. I believe I'm an official late-bloomer, and it's been a long time coming. Inhibition is to Terri is as a lack of needles is to a junkie. She is on a quest, the Grail is hidden from sight. If I sigh or if my hips rise to meet her explorations, she knows she's on the right track. If she feels me tense, she backs off, and so we progress, and I'm taking notes, and I cannot wait for it to be my turn, though I'll admit I'm enjoying the moment. It is slow, and gentle, and she is infinitely patient. I think she and I are alike, there really isn't anything we'd rather be doing, or any place we'd rather be, so why not take our time? The outcome, I believe, is inevitable. No rush. Though some degree of urgency is equally inevitable. What she finds and does goes well beyond what my little virginal imagination has imagined. There are a whole lot of things to be done, and places to do them. She must have earned a merit badge or something, because she really knows what she's doing. Who would have thought that, you know, would feel so good, and I don't mean "you know," I mean YOU KNOW! as in THERE! Whoa! Okay, the tempo picks up. I wish I had my Dictionary of Musical Terms at hand. We've gone from largo to adagio to andante, and we're getting into the allegro, soon to be vivace, and ultimately, hopefully, presto! Yep, there it is. WHAM! It doesn't take long at all. That may be, and no doubt is, because been waiting seventeen years. It isn't one of those Meg Ryan YES YES YES moments, it's more like a tsunami . . . "breaking like the waves at Malibu," as Joni sang. I guess she had a similar experience, and if I thought I was doing well by my lonesome, it's time to rethink things. This is, once again, beyond words, and I know why it's beyond words, and though I don't know how I know, I do. It's love. If it's possible to fall in love in two hours, I have, and I have, so it must be possible. I love her, maybe I needn't say more. Maybe that's enough. We kiss, fresh from her adventure, and oh! That's good! And we rest quietly (I have an image of kindergarten, "get out your mats, nap time."). I am practically purring, but so excited, so happy, so everything. New or not, which it is, sleepy or not, which I am not, sated or not, which I am, all I want, the only thing in the world that I want, is to do unto Terri as Terri has done unto me. Not in an imitative manner, but in my own unique manner, which is yet to be determined. I'll figure it out, and I do. Everything that's been said about: "'tis better to give than receive" is true. It really is. Okay, at least as good. The pleasure I feel, though a different sort of pleasure, fills my heart. What pleases Terri takes some experimentation, though I sense my misteps are not without their own appeal. I hear no complaints, and I'm getting better all the while. She communicates her wants, she isn't shy, and it is a journey, and it involves, well, it's personal, and it works. Oh how it works. Ripples and ripples, and ripples and ripples, and more ripples of ever-expanding joy! And now that we're both sated, at least for a moment, we settle into the afterglow segment of the evening. We pull up the covers. The chill of a San Francisco night settles in. "The coldest winter I ever spent, was a summer in San Francisco." Mark Twain said that. So under the covers we go, and cuddle. Finally! I've waited all my life for this. I have finally found my Terri, the light of my life! My savior! My love! . . . and she has found me, and the night is young, as are we, and this day that seemed destined to end in haze, becomes "oh, such a perfect day," and who knows? Maybe the best is yet to come. So to speak.
~~~
Cultural references and quotes belong to: "The King and I"; "When Harry Met Sally"; my alter-ego: Amy Winehouse: "You Know I'm No Good"; Van the Man Morrison: "Jackie Wilson Said"' Our Lady of the Canyon: Joni Mitchell: "Troubled Child"; the shorter half of Simon and Garfunkel: "Late in the Evening"; and the greatest of the great, Lou Reed: "A Perfect Day."
The quote: "The coldest winter I ever spent, was a summer in San Francisco," is often attributed to Mark Twain, but there is no evidence that he said or wrote it.
Poetry by one trick pony
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Written on 2015-01-02 at 06:17
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