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Archive-name: SpecMome/dsrtftsy.txt


Archive-title: Desert Fantasy

lt (This fantasy, along with another more "subtle" one, was

sent to me for use in the SIG on CompuServe, but the uproar

it caused when posted in the database was unbelievable

because too many thought it was to explicit. What's your

reaction to it?)

It is afternoon in the desert when my lover and I meet.  The

sun is cruel, unyielding in its effect.  We can but clasp

hands as we meet; it is far too hot for any closer contact.

Yet in our eyes can be seen the passions that drive us to

this place.  Words would distract; they are not employed.

Each knows the other's fire as an extension of one's own,

flames hotter than the desert this summer day.

As we open the door to our motel room, the sensation of chill

disorients completely.  The past hours of the drive have all

but convinced us that there is nothing in this place but heat.

But just beyond the door, the steady white noise of an air

conditioner breaks the desert silence, even as the cold air it

emits disturbs the desert's otherwise perfect heat.

At last is the time for embracing; at long last is the time

for words.  A spell has been broken, another begun as we learn

each other's ways again, share the dreams, toast the

successes.  Afternoon slips into dusk and then evening.

The fires, so readily banked in the cool of the room, rekindle

at a glance.  Garments fall in exquisite slow motion

choreography, a dance of touching.  Now is the curve of breast

pressed to chest.  Now are the shoulders desirous of kissing,

the hair demanding of caress.

The dance continues.  She rolls the head of my sex between her

fingertips, and strokes along its shaft as it lengths to full

erection.  My fingers find a drop of moisture first, then many

as they lightly trace a pattern of pleasure among the soft

hair between her legs.

Our eyes again signal the want -- the need -- to fuse our

growing excitement into a single sharing.  There are other

times for teasing, they say.  Other times for lingering, for

rocking back and forth.  Other times for hungry mouths and

expressive tongues.  We did not know this moment before it

arrived, yet it is now with us and the ages old theme of

projection into crevice is again enacted.  I plunge, withdraw,

and plunge again; her hips rock in an ever increasing frenzy

matching my own.  We cling to each other, hips leading our

bodies to rhythms from deep within.  And then, a pause.

Poised on the very edge of the momentary insanity that is

orgasm, we hold our breaths and behold its beauty.  Tense,

stretched, we both release a single long cry as it overtakes

us, dissolving thought and words in the face of sensation.  We

have reverted to previous animal selves of purest instinct,

and wanted it to be that way.

As awareness returns we first notice our breathing, labored as

though having finished as victors a race with death itself;

the drone of the air conditioner returns to consciousness.  We

talk of those things that, close as we are, cannot be told at

other times.  Tomorrow will once again find us far apart, not

knowing when we may be able to join again, but for this night

we are united.  We sleep.



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