Daily Erotic Stories

Glenn Jefferies was in a funk that had lasted over two years. It had been just about that long ago that her husband of thirty five years passed away suddenly do to a massive heart attack. Now at a still young fifty six, Glenn had lost all her zest for life, and she was just going through the motions. Her sex life was nil, even though before Don’s untimely passing they had sex at least twice a week. She hadn’t had a date of any kind, so of course, there was little chance of any male attention. Her only sexual release was from the middle finger on her left hand. Every week or so the tension in her vagina would become so urgent, that she would frig her clitoris to a massive if not totally fulfilling orgasm. There were a lot of eligible men that would be proud to be seen with Glenn on his arm, but she had just about shut out the entire world! As the days passed her restlessness grew. One morning while sharing a cup of coffee with her neighbor Sharon, the subject of travel and vacations came up. “Well, I think you should go,” said an exasperated Sharon, “you’ve hardly left this house in two years, Glenn, and that isn’t healthy, and you know it!!!” What Sharon was griping about, was a chance for Glenn to take a drive from her home in Detroit to her 40th high school reunion in New Orleans. As Glenn cleaned up the dishes, she promised Sharon that she would think about going, but that she wasn’t going to commit to anything just yet. As she was opening the back door to leave, Sharon looked back over her shoulder and in a serious voice said, “It’s time you got over losing Donny, hon, it’s been two years now, you’ve gotta move on!!!” Before she could answer, the door slammed shut and she could see Sharon ambling across the back yard and into her own house next door. Standing over the sink and looking out the window Glenn all of a sudden made a decision, she would go to the reunion after all!!! It had been almost ten years since she had visited the “Crescent City”, and it would be good to get away for a few days! So it was settled, she was going home again!!!

Click here to read the rest of this tale and many others.

Time for another illustrated erotic story.

Click here to read “Goodbye Henry” in full.

Jenny Craft was on cloud number nine! She couldn’t believe her good luck! Having met Charlie only a month ago, and now he was taking her to a party that would include his best and closest friends. They were having what once was described as a whirl wind romance. Introduced by a friend of a friend, they had become almost inseparatable. From the very first night together the sex and been beyond phenomenal! Charlie was hung like a horse and knew exactly how to use it! This was the first time that Jenny had ever had a man with over sized equipment, and she now was a true believer in the saying that size DOES matter! The first time she saw Charlie’s cock she nearly fainted at the thought of trying to get that monster into her tight little pussy, but Charlie was so sweet and considerate the way he made the tenderest love that first time! Making sure that she was totally lubricated and turned on, he ever so slowly inched his organ into her pussy. After the initial shock of have her pussy stretched farther than ever before, she just relaxed and tried to enjoy it. After a few minutes, however, the feeling of being really filled up overwhelmed her! Just thinking of that huge organ inside of her brought her to a shattering orgasm! Charlie hadn’t even started pumping her yet and she was cumming like a little cock hound! After that she was hooked!

Click here to find out what happens when they get to the party!

I hate arguments. I really do. Just about the only

thing I hate more than an argument, is the simple fact that

they are part of relationships. Without any arguments, I’ve

heard people say, relationships cannot grow and prosper. I

do not know about that. I prefer a quiet, happy existance.

But in life, we do not always get what we want.

Unfortunately, my fiancee and I recently got into an

argument. Her name is Lisa, and the two of us plan to get

married in November of 1998. Instead of going into the

details of the argument, I’ll simply say that Lisa started

it, and she was wrong in doing so. This is not the stubborn

side of me talking – now that it is over, Lisa agrees with

me that she was the instigator of our little squabble. The

important thing is that everything is back to normal.

During the argument, Lisa had me so upset that I decided

to leave the apartment – to get away from her for awhile. I

thought I could spend a few hours away by myself, instead of

staying home and bantering back and forth with her about who

was right and who was wrong. My hope was that when I

returned to the apartment, later that evening, Lisa would be

in a calmer mood. Then, we could discuss things.

Each time I feel like “getting away”, the usual place I

go is my parents’ boat, in the downtown marina. They rarely

use it for themseleves anymore – it is almost as if the boat

belongs to me. I have free reign to use it as I please. It

is actually a houseboat, a good-sized one, with a kitchen

and sleeping quarters inside the cabin. A person could live

in it, if neccessary.

This particular boat has provided me with a safe haven

over the years whenever there is trouble or worries in my

life. I always feel confidant that I can go to the boat,

and rest and relax there.

After my recent argument with Lisa, I decided to take a

trip to the marina. I stopped for an afternoon snack on the

way, then brought the (fast) food along with me to the boat.

I took a seat on the deck and caught some rays, while eating

my extra value meal. Once finished, I let all the worries

slip from my mind – and eventually drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later, a familiar voice brought me out of my

slumber. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times, focusing

on the sight before me. Ahh, Lisa. There stood my future

bride, on the dock, just outside the boat. A stunning, tall

blonde, Lisa is the most beautiful woman I have ever known.

She has the face of an angel and the legs of a showgirl,

along with a magnificant body and an enchanting smile.

On this day, at the marina, Lisa stood before me in her

thin, red summer dress. This particular dress happens to be

one of my favorite outfits for her to wear. It is rather

simple, but also very sexy at the same time. Plus, she wore

red high-heels and red sunglasses, with dark lenses.

“Hello, Lisa,” I stated, about 10 seconds after waking

up. I hoped that she did not want to continue the argument,

especially here at the boat – my personal “safe haven”.

Instead, I saw her mouth twitch in a remorseful way,

then she slipped her sunglasses off and looked at me with

sorrowful eyes. “Hi Jeremy,” came her tentative words.

I looked at her for a few seconds more, then glanced

down and noticed a water bottle alongside my chair. I took

a swig of it, then turned my attention back to Lisa.

“I figured you’d come here,” she offered, taking a slow

step toward the gate. “You’ve always loved this boat.”

“It’s a nice place to relax,” I returned, feeling weary.

Lisa is not a confrontational person – she does not like to

argue anymore than I do. However, I was still fearful that

she may explode at me at anytime. “Very peaceful, too.”

“Care if I come aboard?” she asked quickly.

My eyebrows raised at her sudden request, and I returned

in a calm tone, “No, not at all.” I now got the idea that

she was not in an argumentive type of mood.

“Thank you,” Lisa replied, stepping through the gate. I

watched as she gathered a fold-up chair from the cabin, then

bring it out to the deck and open it beside me. She took a

seat there, and looked deep into my eyes.

“Jeremy, I’m sorry for the argument,” Lisa offered. “It

was my fault, and I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations out

on you. I’m really, really sorry. Can you forgive me?”

I was frozen for a second or two, but then gave her a

smile and little laugh. “Of course I forgive you, Lisa.”

Likewise, a smile came to her lovely face. She reached

out and grasped my hand, saying, “Thank you. I’ve had some

time to think and came to the -”

“No,” I interjected, squeezing her hand. “Please. Let

us forget the argument ever happened. I don’t want to talk

about it anymore.” I grinned at her. “You know how much I

truly hate squabbling with you.”

After a moment, Lisa nodded her head and smiled warmly.

“Yes, you hate to argue. Deal. We won’t talk about it any

longer.” She paused, then changed the subject. “How long

have you been out here?”

I glanced at my wristwatch and replied, “Ehh, a couple

of hours.” Twilight was just starting to fall. “Do you

want to go back home?” I was thinking of giving her a hot

oil massage – one of my specialties.

“Doesn’t matter,” she told me. “I’ll stay out here on

the boat for awhile if you want to. I like it here.”

I smiled. “If that is what you want.” I could give her

a hot oil massage anytime. “Hey… would you like something

to drink? I’ve got some diet soda in the refrigerator, down

in the cabin. Interested?”

“Sure,” came her reply.

I got up from the chair, stretched my muscles, then went

down into the cabin – specifically, the kitchen area. I had

brought a 6-pack of diet soda with me in addition to the

fast-food meal, not knowing how many hours I would spend at

the boat on this particular day.

As I was standing at the counter and pouring the soda

into a plastic cup with ice, I heard the cabin door close

behind me. I glanced around, and noticed Lisa coming toward

me. With my back still turned to her, she closed the

distance and hugged me from behind – placing the side of her

face right between my shoulder blades.

“I love you, Jeremy,” Lisa mumbled. I could tell that

she was still feeling bad about the argument – although her

earlier words suggested otherwise.

Thus, I turned around and lightly wrapped my arms around

her neck and shoulders. I stared deeply into her eyes for

several seconds, then brought my right hand up and traced

the outline of her mouth with a fingertip. “I love you too,

Lisa.” She caught my fingertip between her lips, and gently

sucked on it. “I don’t want you to feel guilty. I told

you, let’s forget the argument. It is ancient history, as

far as I’m concerned.”

She looked up at me with puppy-dog eyes and sucked on my

fingertip a few more seconds before saying, “Are you sure?

I mean, can you just forget the argument, all at once?”

“Yes, I can,” was my reply, as I prodded my fingertip

against her soft lips. “I want you to forget it, too. I’m

not one to dwell on negative things – you know that.”

Lisa looked up at me with the same expression for a few

more seconds, then smiled and kissed me on the lips. I

pulled my finger away and kissed her in return, my tongue

slipping into her soft, velvety mouth. We embraced each

other a bit tighter, our tongues dueling with one another.

I caught several strands of her long blonde hair in my

right hand and played with it, gently pulling and yanking

away. Lisa giggled and dug her long fingernails into my

shoulders, lightly caressing and massaging them. My right

hand soon found its way to one of her breasts. The thin

red dress did little to hide the firm, full shape of her

breast, as I cupped and squeezed it with my hand.

Sam guided Sharon by the hand to the driver’s side of the pickup and

made her enter through his door. Kidding, she tried to slip all the

way across to the passenger side. Grabbing her around the waist, Sam

pulled her back. After a minor struggle, with laughing and tickling,

she let him buckle her in place beside him.

“You’re such a brute, Sam.” She rested her head against his shoulder

and closed her eyes, smiling contentedly.

The idea of making a joke about “bondage” crossed his mind but he

decided no.

Driving home, Sam kept one hand on the wheel and the other around

Sharon, his fingers caressing her bare shoulder, neck and cheek.

Turning east into home’s driveway, there popped the moon, bulging over

the dark horizon. The brilliant arch, magnified by the rising heat,

appeared four times its normal size.

“Sherry, it looks like a full moon tonight.”

She sat upright. “Wow, it’s huge!”

An idea sprang to mind, “How ’bout a horseback ride? I know a the

perfect place to stargaze, moongaze or… gaze into my eyes.” He gave

her his best Svengali stare. “Lady’s choice.”

She gave him a raised-eyebrow who-are-you-kidding stare, “Give me a

pin so I can let some hot air out of your ego, Hornet. I can gaze into

your eyes any old time. But that moon… I’d like to see that.” She

looked down at her skirt. “I can’t ride in this.”

“If you don’t mind wearing Jan’s clothes, we keep stuff here for

special occasions like this,” he said, hoping she didn’t.

“If it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.” She kissed his cheek,

taking advantage of the third-month-rule in effect. “Show me where the

tack room and horses are and I’ll start saddling while you change.

Bring my clothes down and I’ll dress in the barn.”

Surprised by her eagerness, Sam agreed. “Sounds like a plan.”

Compared to the air-conditioned truck, the barn heat felt oppressive

as they walked side by side down the asphalt center alley. Sam began

to sweat and Sharon’s arms began to glisten as he brought Sadie and

Buster out from their stalls. He helped carry out the saddles and

blankets before Sharon chased him away to retrieve the clothes from

the house. He stopped at the barn door to watch her skilled movements.

‘Impressive’, Sam thought.

Raised on a farm, where hard working, sweaty bodies were the norm and

prissy women weren’t tolerated, Sam found the sight of the laboring

woman enticing. As Sharon saddled the horses she talked to them,

patted them, and scratched them, enjoying their company. Jan never

really loved horses. She endured them, only because he liked to ride.

It was something to do as a couple after Sam’s reoccurrence of skin

cancer forced them to sell the boat in order to limit his UV exposure.

They had fun on their midnight rides, the swaying motion similar to

the gentle rocking of the waves, but Jan had no great affection for

the animals.

He wanted to stay and observe but Sharon angrily waved at him to get

moving.

‘She must think I’m watching to make sure she’s doing it right.’ Sam

blew her a kiss before he turned away. ‘That was corny.’ He chided

himself on the way to the backdoor.

They had been gone longer than he had anticipated. His mother had

thoughtfully left the kitchen light on. He tiptoed upstairs and peeked

into the spare room. Chris was tucked in for the night. Sam moved on,

treading lightly down the hall toward his old room. His mother’s door

opened. She stood squinting in the light, wearing the worn, pink robe

his father had given her twenty years ago. Some things never lose

their appeal.

“Where’ya goin’, Son?”

“I’m getting a change of clothes. We’re going to ride up to the pond.”

His mother smiled, “I like Sharon, Sam. She’s a smart cookie… and

sweet. And very good with Chris. I can tell she loves children. But

Sam… be careful. She’s too good for the likes of you.” She turned

and closed her door.

Sam leaned his head against the doorjamb. “I love you, Ma.”

“I love you too, Sam.”

He collected their clothes and changed into shorts and a tee-shirt.

When he reentered the barn Sharon was just tightening the last cinch.

“What can I do to help?” He grinned.

“Good timing, Sam.” She wiped her arm across her sweaty forehead, the

perspiration stains around her neck and arms and the clinging fabric

of her top only served to make her more appealing.

“Well, since I can’t help get the horseys ready,” he bounced her

folded clothes in his palms, “maybe I can help –”

She laughed, “Nice try, cowboy.” snatching the pile from him, she

walked to the tack room. Without looking Sherry said, “Nice legs, by

the way.”

Sam looked down at his Pillsbury flour stalks. ‘She’s got to be

kidding.’

While Sharon changed, Sam walked the horses outside into the night

breeze. A few minutes later she emerged in shorts and tee-shirt. The

large white billowing top that he had chosen for her comfort did

little to hide the fact that she had removed her bra. The natural

bounce of her freed breasts against the fabric drew his glance.

Looking up at her moist face, he said, “You look enchanting.”

“Enchanting? Wake up Sam. I’m not Cinderella.” She gave him a crooked

smile and said, “I bet you say that to all the braless women in

tee-shirts.”

She’d caught him looking.

“No… Only the braless women in that tee-shirt.” He handed her

Sadie’s reigns. “I’m glad you’re not Cinderella… because I ain’t no

Prince Charming.” He swung up onto Buster. “And given the choice

between a princess and a scullery maid, I’d take the maid every time.”

Sharon mounted Sadie. “What about an Indian princess?” Not waiting for

an answer, she kicked Sadie into a trot, getting a head start.

“Hey, Little White Dove, wait up,” kicking Buster to catch up.

Side by side, they quietly rode. The moon behind them kept their faces

in shadow. They each had a wheel rut to follow up the slight incline

of the fragrant clover hayfield. Sam watched Sharon, watched her legs

flex in the stirrups, her torso sway above the saddle.

She tipped her head back, “You have a lot more stars out here than I

have in the city.”

“Of course I do. I have a lot more room out here… but I can see the

stars any old time.” He continued to watch her.

“Sam… Sam, what am I going to do with you?” She looked at him –

longingly he hoped.

Sharon kicked Sadie, “Race ya!” She yelled over her bouncing shoulder.

The thudding hooves left Sam coughing up dust.

“Heeeyaa!” Buster was spurred into a gallop.

The dark lane passed in a blur as the horses sped along the shallow

ruts. Sharon glanced back to check on the competition. Buster began to

overtake the smaller Sadie. Sam pulled up slightly to let her win…

Besides, the view was much better from second place.

Sharon reined Sadie to a trot at the end of the lane, Sam close

behind.

“I win!” The moonlight glistened on her face. Sadie and Buster, not

having run that hard in a while, were gulping air.

“Nice riding White Dove. What did you win?”

A thinking pause and then, “I want to see you, Running Bear… that’s

bare spelled b-a-r-e.” pleased with herself, she winked.

“Oh, I get it, one of the three-month-rules must be that from now on

you can be a cock-tease.” He laughed but she remained smiling and

silent.

“The pond’s over here.” Sam turned Buster down a hedgerow and Sadie

fell in behind. Curving off to the left, cutting across an open field,

they soon approached a one-acre pond, reflecting brilliant in the

moonlight. On the opposite side, a granite outcropping created a

ten-foot cliff at the water’s edge. The sides of the cliff tapered

down to the grassy shoreline.

“To really appreciate the moonlight we have to be on the other side.”

Sam pointed to the right, “We can get there by going around… which

is the easy way, or… if you really want some fun… we can swim

across. Have you ever ridden a swimming horse, Sherry? They could use

some cooling off… and so could I.”

The excitement on her face was delightful. “No I haven’t, but I’ve

always wondered what that would be like… What do we do?”

Sam dismounted. “First we take off the saddles and leave them here.

All we need do is get them started and hang on. Sadie and Buster are

used to this and know where to go. Don’t pull on the reigns, just hug

her neck and squeeze your knees. Try to keep your weight centered. If

you do float off, swim away to the side so you aren’t kicked. You can

swim, can’t you?”

With that increasingly familiar “get real look” on her face she said,

“Yes, I can swim…” rubbing her hands together, she squeaked, “This

is so cool.”

After removing the saddles and their shoes and socks, Sam gave Sharon

a leg up onto Sadie and then he mounted Buster.

“Ya ready?”

“Ready!”

Sam nudged Buster into the water. Sharon and Sadie followed along

side. The water level deepened gradually, the cold liquid refreshing

– inch by inch.

Soon the horses were swimming; the only sounds were the animals’

huffing breaths and the swishing water around their bodies. The

flexing surges of the horses’ muscular kicks pulsed beneath them;

rippling water twinkled in the reflected light. Finding a footing on

the other side, the horses clambered out, each still carrying its

rider.

“Wow… that was so great, Sam! What a rush.” She was beaming.

“That is pretty neat isn’t it.” Sam thrilled at giving her this new

experience.

He slid off Buster and Sharon followed suit. They let the horses drink

their fill and then tethered them to a tree. As the horses flicked

tails, wagged heads and shook hides to shed excess water. The humans

walked dripping, up to the top of the granite boulder and faced one

another; both drenched — not only in water but also the silvery

moonlight. Sam looked at Sharon and Sharon looked at Sam, taking time

to enjoy the view of the matted clothing against the other’s body,

rivulets streaming down bare legs and pooling around bare feet.

Sharon’s shameless gaze resembled the wanton desire he’d experienced

in his bedroom only four days ago. It seemed like ages.

Sam pulled his clinging shirt off and, while watching her watch him,

wrung out the excess water. His chilled skin broke out in goose bumps.

Laying out the shirt to dry, Sam sat down facing the shining pond, “Go

ahead and wring out yours. I won’t look, scout’s honor.” He held up

his hand showing her his scout salute.

“I can’t picture you as a Boy Scout, Sam.”

Hearing water raining down on the rock, he said, “Actually, I wasn’t.”

and turned for a glimpse of her naked torso. “I’ve always been more of

a girl scout. Oh look! There’s a fine specimen now.”

“Sam!” She whacked his face with the wet cloth. He turned away,

unsatisfied.

“Peeking is allowed in the third month isn’t it?” Sam whined.

There was motion to his right, so he turned. Four feet away, she sat

down facing him — topless. She leaned back on her hands. The

glimmering water danced waves of light and dark zebra stripes, over

her flawless skin. He tried not to leer at her inviting breasts.

Instead he turned and put his feet against hers, the cool, toughened

surfaces mismatched in size. He bent his toes over hers. She wiggled

hers against his.

Unashamedly, her eyes poured over him. “Are you really 45?”

“Yes, I really am.” He frowned, not pleased with her mentioning it.

His eyes wandered over her tanned legs, seeming even darker when

compared to his pasty-white shins. “And you are… thirty?”

“No.”

“Seventeen.”

“No!”

“Twenty-nine?”

“Yes, I’ve been twenty-nine for seven years… are you satisfied now?”

Sam was drifting into one of his darker moods.

“I haven’t been satisfied since Monday,” He reminded her. She smiled,

understanding. He asked, “Are you going to run off with a younger

man?”

“Are you going to run off with a younger woman?” She countered.

“I’m not running off anywhere. I have a son to raise.” The

conversation was taking a serious turn, much more serious than he

wanted. She was making him think about the future beyond the next few

hours.

Sharon sat up, eased forward between Sam’s feet and crossed her legs.

She lifted his left foot, placed it on her lap and began to work her

fingers and knuckles into its sole.

“Yes, You do have a son to raise don’t you, Sam. That’s a huge

responsibility. And you don’t want any flighty bimbo wasting your

time, is that what you’re saying…” Her eyes fixed on his blue-veined

foot, she asked, “What do you want?”

Sam watched her fingers push between his toes, the pleasant sensation

both relaxing and stimulating. Sam’s eyes wandered to her breasts,

swaying with the motion of her hands.

“This ain’t bad for a start,” postponing a serious answer to her

question.

Sharon put that foot aside and started the other.

Still drifting down into familiar despondency, he said, “Sherry, I

want what I lost.”

He pulled his foot away, turned and inspected the moon’s dappled

surface through his watery eyes.

“Sometimes…It feels like I’ve been to the moon… I can remember the

effort… I remember how long it took to get there… the excitement

when we arrived… and now… I’m stuck back on the earth, wanting a

return trip… and it really sucks knowing that no one has ever gone

back… No one ever gets to walk on the moon twice.”

Sherry stood up and moved behind him. The night air was filled with

the sounds of crickets and peepers. Lightening bugs floated fairy-like

over the pond surface. It was lovely, but it didn’t offer the near

weightless feeling as dancing on the moon.

He heard soft shuffling and then felt Sharon pressing herself against

his back, encircling him in a bear hug.

She kissed his shoulder. “Sam, those lunar missions always had three

people… And I feel like I’ve been to the moon too… You and Jan

were the two lucky ones that went to the surface and shared that

glorious experience, while I was that lonely third astronaut circling

overhead, watching, envious.”

Her hands slipped down his stomach and worked open the button on his

shorts. She pulled down the zipper and slid her warm hand over his

chilled penis, fondling it.

“I know where you’ve been, Sam. I’ve watched you. I may not know how

it feels to walk on the moon, but I know how it feels to be

weightless. I know I can put you in orbit and bring you back to earth.

I’m in love with you, Sam Colton. And I know the way to the moon.”

Sharon moved in front and she was nude. Straddling Sam’s lap, she bent

down and pulled his damp clothing from his legs, tossing it aside.

Kneeling over his thighs, she pressed herself against his chest,

holding his head between her hands she kissed him with an urgency he

hadn’t felt from her before. One hand released his head and moved to

his erection, stroking it rigid between them. The heated kiss

continued as he felt her warm moisture cover him. He cupped her

buttocks, his fingers lightly kneading the fleshy globes, helping her

lift and release, as she rode him. Sam’s lips left her mouth to suckle

a breast.

Click here to read the rest of this romantic story and thousands of others.

A purr of perfect contentment eased from your soft lips as you drew the

lustrous green shawl around your shoulders and curled up on the Persian

carpet in front of the fire. The shawl hugged the top of your shoulders,

your back, your buttocks, your thighs and calves in a smooth relief ‘S’

shape. S for sexy.

How long? Eighteen months? We split up—no, you split up, but I was still

tied to you emotionally and physically. I had to steel myself to hide all

this inside, not to let even a hint out, because the smallest sign, the

smallest slip would destroy all the independence I had so painstakingly

built. When I passed you a cup of chai and our hands accidentally brushed,

did you feel the quicksilver of longing that ran through my veins? When you

came to sit next to me in the staff dining room, did you feel my shiver of

delight or the tremble of my heart? I never knew, for your enigmatic smile,

seductive, uncertain, vulnerable never answered any question directly.

So, repressed and aching from it, I could caress the silky shape of your

body only with my mind. Under the shawl and the thin red cotton skirt I

imagined the soft, light hairs on your leg standing up in goose-bumps as my

fingernails teased the skin gently, softly, with barely the slightest of

pressures. Still asleep you would quiver imperceptibly, and then my hand

would move up to hold your round creamy white buttocks under—what? black

silk panties with lace trimmings, that you would wear because you knew that

their soft coolness touching my hot hard cock would be more than I could

bear? or small white linen panties with diminutive bears and flowers, the

underwear of a young girl, from when we played at brother and sister playing

at ‘families’ and you pouted innocence and lust? Any, I decided, and traced

my imaginary hand up your imaginary side and counted each imaginary rib with

my fingertips. Suddenly your hand covered mine. I started, opened my eyes,

and my hand was on your shoulder and you had moved yours to cover it with

the dreaminess of sleep, and I left it there and soaked in your closeness.

Seven months ago you had left for India and I devotedly had written every

Friday, and you had written back. Each word I would read and read again.

“Dear,” “Darling,” “L–, dearest,” “From me,” “Love,” “Love always.” How

much was standard form for letters and how much true sentiment? Sometimes

you hinted that you were lonely, and sometimes you recalled past times

together, and sometimes you planned what we would do when you came to visit

for a week: “I want to waltz in the snow under the stars”; “Would you give

me a massage when I come?” “Yes,” I replied, and “yes,” and “yes,” but

always I took care to hide my feelings with little anecdotes and

descriptions. Now, at last, you had come.

I rubbed my thumb in small circles on your neck and must have triggered

latent memories, for you turned slightly in my direction, eyes still shut,

with the hint of an indulgent smile curling up the corners of your lips.

“Massage?” you mumbled. “Yes,” I whispered wordlessly; but you already knew

the answer for you had turned onto your back, shawl underneath, and had

moved languorously to pull up your black top from your waist. With your

hands outstretched behind your head, surprised by their proximity to the

fire, I completed the motion—and softly gasped. Still not wearing a bra,

S–: your small and perfect breasts standing proud, half spheres like

pomegranates, dark brown aureoles and pink nipples.

First, without oil, one hand resting on your rib cage and the fingertips of

the other making small vibrating corkscrews over your rounded abdomen, I

rubbed your skin over your muscles and felt the tension in your belly slowly

relax into my hands. Then both hands starting in a dove at your navel pushed

forwards gently, between your breasts to your neck and then down to the

armpits and back along your sides. I made the rough wool of my sleeves brush

your nipples ever so slightly, so that by the second pass they were hard and

pink and I longed to feel their pertness under my palms, my cheek, my

tongue.

Now it was time for the oil—coconut oil with one drop of Attar of Roses–

-that I had fetched from the kitchen. Scooping some from the bowl, warming

it in my hands, I stroked it onto your belly, your breasts, your neck, all

of your body using the whole flat surface of my hands. You had always loved

the slickness of oil and now pressed your body up to me but I calmed you,

relaxed you, and marveled at the dancing red reflections of coals and fire

on the top of your taught round breasts and sides and at how in the dim

light the oil had changed your skin from alabaster milk to Persian

chocolate.

The final stroke I held at the top of your arm, and then I kneaded with my

fingertips the lymph notes in your armpits. Supporting your wrist on my

knees I encircled your shoulder with my hands and slid them over the oiled

skin, pulling up to your fingertips, willing that all the tension would be

drawn out with the motion. You sighed, and it was, and at the end your

fingertips curled into mine to delay the moment of separation. Now I

threaded my fingers into yours and took control of your arm, making your

shoulder and elbow joints bend without any muscle activity from you, and you

floated in the trance of movement without effort and surrended yourself to

me.

Finally I knelt by your head and cupped it in my hands. Your skin was smooth

and supple and I took small pinches of skin and kneaded them between my

fingers, past your high cheekbones, by your ears, back to your mouth and to

your soft moist kissable lips. I smiled as your mouth melted and your lips

and cheeks twisted into bizarre and unrecognizable shapes, and you in your

doze must have sensed my amusement for you smiled as well. Then my two

hands, fingers interlocked, compressed over your forehead which is the

source of headaches, and then my thumbs delicately pressed on top of each

eye while I rubbed small gentle circles over your temples. You miaowed this

time, like a cat, and I looked again at your delicious rose-petal lips which

had parted slightly to reveal a hint of your front teeth. Kneeling down,

drunk from the sight and from the smell of the musk that you wear and >from

the memories that came with it, I brushed your lips with mine—but pulled

away, knowing I could not tread further and savoring the sweet memory of

their touch.

One final stroke to finish the massage: a long fan stroke of the torso that

started at your shoulders, pushed over the chest to your abdomen and then

back by the sides. I was wanton at last, because I knew that this was the

end and that I could restrain myself after. Pressing over your breasts I

caught the still-firm nipples between my fingers and squeezed, and you

moaned, and I pushed my hands further down, under the skirt, fingertips just

under your panties; and then a second stroke cupping your breasts again and

reaching further to your pubic hair, to the top of your thighs; and a third

imperceptible stroke with my fingernails that pattered like rain-drops over

your skin and left it minutely sensitized. Then I undid my hair from its

clasp, shook it forward and let it play over your belly. You always said

that it felt like you were floating up in that final moment, as though your

feet and body had left the ground, as though your mind and body had merged.

I left you that way, draped the shawl over your body, admired the shape

underneath of your shoulders, round breasts, hips, thighs; and I sat and

stared into the red coals of the fire, and dreamed.

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