Sharing the solo experience can be a loving gesture, closing the distance between kindred hearts.
It was the passage below that had kept me up the other night. I had been reading it over and over, sifting out tender nuances from the rich layers of feeling and vision. The nuances coalesced into an image so very sweet and tender that for an hour or more, I strove to capture the colors and depths of the currents you set in motion within me. In spite of my efforts, I know I came nowhere near. Here is another attempt...
The room is quiet and still. A gossamer cast of pale light has dusted the darkened forms, giving them a vaporous ghost of presence. There are night sounds in this place. Somewhere a Mockingbird loses its spirit in celebration of the joy of life. A breeze sighs in the boughs of a tree. There is soft breathing in slow, relaxed measure. Gentle movement brings warmth to the stillness as the delicate form of a woman emerges from the aether. She is lying naked on a bed stripped of covers. I feel the presence of her spirit within me. She dwells in the deepest recesses of my being where the currents of our love flow together. I drink in this vision and her feelings enfold me with caresses of tenderness, warming my heart and filling my senses with all of her flavors. The lines of her figure stream with exquisite harmony that resonates deep in my heart. Her breasts rise and fall with the tide of breath swelling with joy to accompany every heartbeat. A sheltering arch comes and goes beneath the small of her back. The line of her hip flows into the rise of her thigh. Her knees are raised and drawn apart. She drinks in the coolness of the sheets with the souls of her feet as she would refreshing puddles of spring rain. Her hands are led by the promise of her rising pleasure . I watch the miraculous way she coaxes and shapes the flow, and depth, and power of her passions between the rolling glide of her body and the teasing encouragement of her fingers. The way she gathers it into gleaming intensity in her breasts only to free it, caressing its cascade throughout her being, gathering it along her thighs and tickling it to distilled brilliance amid the beckoning rise of her hips. She is gifting herself with such deeply loving touches, drowning in sensations in which her lover's spirit dwells, playing briskly about her mound the way his kisses worship her, loving her fingers as deeply as he has loved her with his driving, caressing thrusts. My heart blazes as she rocks her hips against the caress of her palm searching deeper and deeper for the beauty we have shared. Her secret, little 'tool' takes the place of her hand, gently nuzzeling against it, moving against it's penetrating presence around which lives the memory of his thrilling cock and the knowledge of her lover's most sacred and loving touch. Our spirits are entwined so completely that I feel your rapture rising within me, and I pray with all my being that through your own touch you will know the depths of my endless love for you.
Thank you for the precious gift of allowing me to love you, Judith.