Your long hair, your sleek and slender body, the enthralling taper and curves of your legs all combine to produce an image of heaven by my definition. When I hear the water running, I turn and walk back to the great room downstairs, taking a seat on the sofa.
“You okay if I take a few more minutes?” you soon call to me. I turn and look up at you standing on the balcony off the master bedroom. You have a light tan colored towel wrapped snuggly around you and the color of the towel exemplifies the wonderful shade of your skin.
I stand up to be able to face you more directly. “Take as long as you need,” is my reply. Another of the many uncontrollable smiles I’ve had appears on my face. I see you smile back as you turn and vanish from my sight.
Not even ten minutes had passed when I hear you softly walking down the steps, but I had drank two full goblets of wine in that time. I again stand to greet you and almost fall over. Not from the wine; no, not at all. It was from the sweet vision I see before me as I stare in disbelief. You’re still wearing the towel and again, I smile as even more enticing visions about you flicker through my mind.
“I’m sorry I took so long, but I had to brush my hair or it would be a disaster,” you explain as you notice me smiling while I look at you. “I didn’t want to put my dirty clothes back on until just before I leave,” you needlessly explain once you realize you were still wrapped in the towel.
“If they’re machine wash and dry, I’d be more than happy to wash them out for you,” I offer.
You wrap your hands around my neck and rise to your tip-toes to kiss me. “That’s sweet of you to offer, but certainly not necessary.”
I wanted so much to put my arms around you and give you a long hug, but I also knew that I couldn’t trust myself to touch you. The impulse to tug the towel off you would be far too much temptation for even a man such as myself to resist.
“Seriously, get everything you want washed and we’ll run ’em through,” I reiterate to you.
“You’re absolutely sure you wouldn’t mind?” you ask. I nod my head affirmatively, still making certain not to touch you and tempt myself beyond my ability to maintain my self-control. You smile and go hurriedly upstairs, returning almost instantly with your clothes. I’ve not moved from where you left me, and you hand me your clothes. Taking them into my arms, I quickly go and start the washer, placing your clothes in it. I return to the great room and you have seated yourself facing the west wall which was all glass and overlooked the water.
“Cold water wash, right?” I ask you as I sit down beside you. You place your hand on my leg and confirm my decision was correct. The touch of your hand on my leg sent another series of desire capped waves through me. I can’t help myself from looking at your legs. They look so smooth and soft, and I enjoy the fact that the towel was so high up your thighs. ‘Gonna need to have that towel bronzed!’ I think to myself as I fantasize of feeling those legs around me..
Later, I went and put your clothes in the dryer and when it was done, I went to get your clothes so I could return them to you. I wasn’t wanting to return them to you because that simple action would probably mean our evening together would be ending. You took them and placed them on the table in front of the sofa as I sat down next to you. My eyes were still fixated on your long, shapely legs. I so desperately wanted to touch them, run my hands up and down the subtle curves and allow my lips to follow behind my hands, placing a series of kisses from your ankles to your thighs, and ideally, even higher.
We leaned back and I slipped my arm around you. You turned a bit more toward me and placed your hand on my stomach. ‘Lower! PLEASE, LOWER!!’ I screamed out within my head. I couldn’t even imagine what your touch to my stimulated flesh would feel like.
“I’m not sure, but I maybe shouldn’t have had those last few glasses of wine,” you said as you rubbed your cheek lightly against my bare chest.
“You’re more than welcomed to stay the night,” I remind you. “I’ll force myself to resist you.”
Immediately upon vocalizing that last phrase, I wished I hadn’t said it.
“Force yourself to resist me?” you confronted me with as you lifted your head and stared directly at me. I couldn’t determine what your thoughts were. Was it anger, pleasure, surprise or disgust you felt?
“Why would you need to do that?” came your additional question. It burned as those words entered my ears and embedded themselves in my brain. Silently I pondered over just exactly what you meant by that. Did you mean you doubted I really had such passionate desires for you or did you mean I’d not need to resist and could fully express my affection?
Before I could get it rationalized out in my head and produce an appropriate answer, I felt your hand on my jeans, directly over top the thick shaft of swollen flesh hiding under the material. Maybe it was the wine, or the mental closeness I felt with you, or the physical desire to enjoy your body, but something made me start spilling out a confession like I was a chicken-shit mobster being interrogated by the cops. “I’ve dreamed of you so often. Of being with you, enjoying the feel of your body, making love to you, us living together,” I began. “Do you have any idea the burden it’s been on me, trying to prevent you from discovering my true feelings for you?”
You were looking at me so intently that your gaze was having the effect of truth serum.
“I’ve been afraid to tell you for fear you’d be offended. I couldn’t risk loosing your friendship by telling you my dreams and desires. You have almost all that I’ve wanted in a mate, but I know it wouldn’t work out and it would be unfair to you to be with a man who is so much older than you.”
My mouth spewed forth everything so quickly I couldn’t seem to stop it or even slow it down. “I could easily fall so much in love with you. You’re smart, funny, we have many things in common, and you’re so beautiful and sexy that I’ve had countless dreams of making love to you. So many that I am almost ashamed of myself.”
Finally, I got my mouth into a mental death grip and stopped it before it continued. You were totally silent and I could feel you looking at me as I fidgeted in my seat. I couldn’t look at you. Not because I was ashamed of what I had just said, but out of shame that I had not been more open and direct with you before and now had dumped it all in your lap in one horrific minute. Your silence was scaring me to death as I waited for your reaction. Honestly, I thought you’d leave and tell me to forget I ever knew you.
Instead, you began to discuss it with me in a rational, calm manner. We talked for quite a while and continued to work at eliminating the wine I had stocked up on, which I was fine with. Almost three hours later, you asked if you could still stay over. You thought we should talk about it more, but only after we both had gotten a few hours sleep.
I agreed and you soon went upstairs. I changed into my sweatpants then sat on the sofa, sipping more wine and wishing I could join you. After about half an hour I laid down. I had forced myself to accept the fact that I would tonight, as with all other nights before, be going to sleep without you in my arms – only in my dreams.
Apparently I had fallen asleep quickly for it was very dark outside when I heard you whispering my name as you jostled me from my slumber. “Art? Art! Wake up,” I heard you through my sleep. ” Why don’t you come up to bed?”
I forced open my resisting eyes to see if I was dreaming. You were bent over me, your long hair caressing my exposed chest. There was one part of me that had more quickly awakened; which was a fact I was oblivious to until I stood up and felt it’s familiar straining as it pushed against the fleece of my sweats Instantly I knew that you couldn’t have helped but seen the tent pole I surely made with my erection pointing straight upward under my sweats as you walked up to the sofa.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I asked, almost in disbelief as you guided me to the bedroom.
We walked to the bedroom door and you insisted I go first. “I’m not telling you this to start a conversation or a debate,” you said as you leaned back against the door. “But it does feel like I’m supposed to be with you.”
Still not certain if I was awake or having another very vivid dream, I stood there for a moment, motionless and mummy-like as I gazed at you. It was difficult to see you clearly as the only illumination in the room was from the few wisps of moonlight that filtered in through the window.
You started to walk toward me. “Oh shit,” you thought to yourself when you saw the blank expression on my face. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You okay?” you asked, reaching up to touch my face.
My eyes moved over and became intertwined within your gaze. “Either I died and went to heaven, or I’m dreaming, or my prayers have been answered!” I said In a voice hoarse from happiness.
I felt your hand run down over my face. “You’re certainly not dead, and I’m fairly certain you’re not dreaming,” I hear you say. You look in my eyes and see the passion, the tenderness, and the desire for you, all of which you can tell are authentic. “Come on, let’s lay down,” you suggest, taking my hand and leading me to the side of the bed. You now know what’s in my heart and all of your fears, apprehension, and worries seem to vanish.
“Oh Sweetheart, I can’t be here with you and even hope to control myself,” I again confess to you as you gently push me down so I’m sitting on the bed. You watch my expression as you push me on the bed, me landing flat on my back. I’m watching you closely also. I could tell the instant that you fully realized you didn’t just see a man that wanted you. You saw a man who respects you. A man who has the most sincerest of hearts. A man who has offered himself to you, not in the physical sense, but in a compassionate, emotional way as you have many times envisioned in your dreams and hopes.
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