Scintillectually Yours

Our hands touch briefly as we both reach for the same pillow. I pull mine away and grab another from the floor, smoothing out my corner of the cool Egyptian cotton sheet before I carefully mimic the artistic way you have arranged your side of the bed. I run my hand over the duvet cover and reach for you as I walk to the doorway to survey the room. My bedroom. So different from the one I left behind. The furniture is the same, but the colors are no longer muted browns, tans, and burgundys. The chintz loveseat, formerly occupying my living room up North, now sits regally at the end of my bed. Its colors have inspired this new look—sage greens, grays, deep mauves. I admire the Tamara de Lempicka piece you chose to grace the far wall. Two Friends. It is perfect. You wrap your arms around me and ask me how I like my new room. I pull you closer and turn to kiss your cheek and smile. It is perfect.

It has been a long day of unpacking and there are many boxes stacked in other rooms awaiting our attention tomorrow. Tonight, however, belongs to us and my little bungalow is blissfully quiet. I’ve left behind a noisy two-family apartment on a busy street—I’d grown used to falling asleep to the sound of unmuffled engines, sirens, loud teenagers out late. As we undress and climb into bed, I realize that I hear nothing but the hum of the air conditioner. My quiet neighborhood is void of traffic and the neighbors have turned in early. I feel utterly at peace. It is perfect.

I reach over to turn the light off and when I roll back toward you, I realize the bed is bathed in moonlight. I’d forgotten how much sky there was here. You lean over me, perched on one elbow, and trace the contours of my mouth with your right hand. I catch your forefinger between my lips and lightly kiss it. Every move is tender, gentle, silent. I pull your face down to mine with both hands and catch your bottom lip between my teeth; you inhale sharply but the sigh that follows is as soft as the evening breeze. I move into you, under you, our bodies coming together to create a oneness where there were two.

Our kisses become more fervent and our hands seem to take on a life of their own as they explore each other’s bodies unabated. My fingernails light upon your back and down your arms. Your roughened hands tangling in my short hair. It is time. I am wet. Ready. I want you inside me. You came to bed prepared, your cock now living in its own drawer in one of the antique dressers, here, in my home.  Now, you raise yourself above me and enter me and it is my turn to sigh. I look up and there you are. Looking back at me. Every feeling you have betrayed in those eyes that seem to shift from gray to green to gray, as though by changing color you could ever hide from me.

You sit up and grasp my legs as I rest them against your chest. Straight as arrows. Your hands caress my calves, you run your tongue along my ankle and instep. I shudder involuntarily and begin to move against you like a wave breaking softly against the shore. Every move is precise, controlled, easy. It is perfect. Our lovemaking is, for now, sweet. We know that we have the rest of our lives to play. Years ahead of us to continue our exploration into the many facets of our sexual life together. Tonight, this night, we know that I am home and you live a scant two miles down the road. This night marks the beginning and as such we treat it with reverence and respect.
This night you move in me as though I am something fragile. As though you fear one of us may go away again. But there will be no more leavings. I am here. We are fully present. I am home and you are with me, in me, around me. We come together in a beautiful testament to the love that brought us to this place. This home. This bedroom. This bed.

and it is perfect.