The body that falls

page views:1 Publication date:2013-12-23

Her hand gripped my fingers tightly, but I didn't feel any pain. She was reminiscing. After the first round, I refused his kisses. Because we were a little more familiar, he held me tightly in his arms, listening to him tell their story, their entanglements and conflicts. At the height of their passion, he kissed my lips—this was my initial bottom line. He could only kiss my cheek. He was excited, but not impulsive. I thought we'd just quickly get dressed and leave after it was over, but unexpectedly, I stayed to listen to his story. He had a broad chest, which gave me a sense of security. He said he had to awaken the master within me, to merge together, to reach the pinnacle of sex, to live up to God's promise in creating man. I could hear his strong heartbeat.
He could be called a mentor; he was a rare gem. He looked like a stallion, but he was actually quite something. It seems you can only be submissive; only then can you elevate your spiritual level. Most people in this world are ordinary, selfish, possessive, seeking only superficial sexual entertainment, empty inside, and venting for the sake of release. Experience is experience, transcending love, transcending the physical.
His kisses on my face were always gentle, like feathers fluttering across my skin. His sweet words whispered softly in my ear, like a lullaby, like a gentle breeze and fine rain. His slender hands must have been those of a pianist, creating turbulent waves wherever they touched. Wherever his lips touched, waves of heat surged forth, an unprecedented heat welling up from within my body. I began to tremble, gripping the bed, my body arched. When his lips appeared on my face, I parted them slightly, and he caught them, his lips pressing tightly together. His tongue touched mine, swirling together. His lips moved back to my face, and my lips searched, biting each other. My hands clung to his waist, my legs intertwined. I felt the powerful, relentless force of his life. He whispered to me, "You are mine." I sealed his lips with mine. He pulled my hands to his waist, the robust strength of his life infecting me once more. My hands grasped his throbbing, yearning gaze. He whispered, "He is calling. Answer him, my darling." He was stained with the tears that flowed from your flowerbed. I felt conquered by him, kissing him, one hand guiding, the other pressing against his waist. "Give it to me, I'm so wet." His strength was enough to shake the heavens and earth. I forgot myself.
Her face was flushed, burning hot. She pressed my hands against her face and held me tightly. He was deeply intoxicated by memories, his body pressed against mine. Women are driven by emotions; physical experiences far outweigh emotional ones, and emotional experiences deeply wound physical ones. I feared he would become too infatuated; this was my worry. Because my experience this time was based on mutual attraction. The woman's charm didn't move me; I didn't feel any lingering affection for her.

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The body that falls

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