When I can't sleep, which is getting to be more and more common, I read the stories that Suzy had scattered all over the web. I came across this one tonight and it really kicked me in the guts.
When she wrote it I never dreamed that she would be describing me nowdays.
Like usual, we chat on line telling each other what we were going to do when we finally hooked up. What we would do on our big Valentine's Day date. What we would wear. What we would eat. What...
What bullshit. You are words on a computer screen -- nothing more. You aren't really real. I know in my ever so logical mind that I would, once again, be spending this Valentine's Day's night alone.
I find myself sitting in my room wanting you. Wanting you to be here after our "big date". Wanting to have you read me that Valentine's card full of clichés that you had gotten for me. Wanting to read you the Valentine's poem that I'd written just for you. Roses are red...
Wanting you to be here with me. Wanting to feel your arms around me as I suck your bottom lip and nuzzle against your neck. Wanting you to make love to me over and over and over again.
I finally stop my fantasizing long enough to get ready for bed. Even though it was cold and damp out, I put on a sheer negligee and even add a quick spritz of perfume. I laugh at myself, without humor, for doing this. Whom am I trying to fool?
I crawl under my blankets and think of you again. I think what it would be like to have you here beside me. How it would be to feel the warmth of your body next to me and how it would be to have you reach for me and pull me into your arms.
I turn to my side, almost prepared to see you lying there... but all that is there is an empty space; as empty as the feeling I experience having a lover whom I've never seen nor actually spoken to. I close my eyes and make myself go to sleep only to dream of you once again.
Oh, yes. I dream of you just as I fantasize about you, but with more passion than my conscious mind would ever allow. In my dreams, my room is much more elegant than the plain bare walls that it has in the real world. It is no longer the room of a lonely, tired woman, but is now the boudoir of a sensual, desirable lover.
In my dreams, you come to me, take me in your arms and kiss me deeply and passionately until I swoon. When my knees give out you wrap me in your arms and guide me to the settee that occupies a corner of my imagined room.
You revive me with a sip of blood red wine from a bottle that you had opened for just that purpose. You know me so well. You know the effect your lusty kisses have on me. You know that with a single kiss I become yours to do with as you please.
With the ease possible only in dreams, you gently remove my negligee while I sit cuddled in your lap. You bade me to stand, then guide me to the soft fluffy rug situated in front of a low, simmering fireplace.
You quickly remove your own cloths with equal ease and lay down next to me. Even your short absence has made me miss you desperately and I cling to you with arms that never want you let you go ever again.
The candle and firelight cast conflicting shadows that highlight our nakedness. The hard curve of your shoulders; the soft curves of my breasts; the hollows of our secret places are all defined in stark relief.
The firelight reflected on my nipples as you take each in their turn into you mouth. Your tongue teases them into hardness as your nimble fingers begin their search for my most sensitive spots.
My back arches, as I demand the undivided attention of your mouth. I grab twin handfuls of your hair and crush your lips against mine as my tongue begins its own exploration of your mouth. We kiss, lick and caress each other until we are both in a complete frenzy of passion and desire.
My lips wanders over your cheeks and eyes. They caress your ear and my tongue darts as I lick you hungrily. Our fingers find each other at the same time and as we gently fondle one another's sex, we match each other with our ragged gasps.
We both begin to pant, as searching fingers become more insistent. As if performing an erotic ballet, we move in unison to take each other into our mouths and to taste each other's most tender spots.
First with cautious lips, then with probing tongue and fingers we both revel in each other's arousal. As passions builds, fingernails bite into softly round bottoms and faces become damp with a mixture of sweat and desire.
My hands rhythmically squeeze and knead as you keep one of your own hands on my head, encouraging me further, and the other on my right breast constantly teasing the nipple.
I arch my back till it is fully bowed as I call your name in orgasmic passion. I beg you to make me yours forever.
After catching our breath, you help me to rise on wobbly legs and lead me to the bed I hope to share with you always. We make slow passionate love for hours.
We kiss and I tell you I love you just as the morning light wakes me.
As I come fully awake, I think of you and then look in shame and sadness as my plain drab room and the cold secretions coating my own hand.
I softly cry for lack of the caress that I will never know from my imaginary Valentine.