Fat Man's Dream

I am abuptly transported to a familiar darkened room.
I know instantly where I am and what is happening.

I am on the floor, on my knees, my head between the thighs of an old friend who is seated in front of me on a well worn leather couch. She is moaning with pleasure as I explore her with my mouth and tongue. Her response to my probing is ecstatic, like nothing I've ever experienced before. The memory of this moment, I know, will be indelible.

I try to speak to her but she does not respond. She is lost within herself. We are, each of us, alone in this moment together.

I am startled, as, without warning, she reaches out and puts her hands behind my head forcing me, with all her might, closer, deeper inside. I can hardly breathe but I keep moving my mouth and tongue, constantly refining my attentions, concentrating on the areas that generate the most intense responses.

She moans louder, her voice changing pitches, each moment now accentuated by a frantic suffocating thrust. She is like an unstoppable train heading for an unfinished bridge; perfectly perpared to crash in exchange for the privilege of leaving its tracks to soar through the air for just a few brief moments. Then she is suddenly in that flight, erupting, screaming again and again with delight.

Her voyage complete, she releases me. She is still quivering, now moaning softly, still deep within herself.

I am left gasping for breath, wondering at the power of her explosive pleasure and feeling even more alone.