Touching

I can't touch you… not like I long to, not now, possibly not ever…

But, I wonder… could I tell you how I would like to?

Could I write you some eloquent words about how I'd like to stand before you and put my hand on your shoulder, resting it there for only a moment before pulling you in and moving it to just below the back of your neck?

Would it be okay for me to tell you how I'd then slide that hand down to the small of your back, pulling you even closer such that our bodies press together?

And then could I spend a paragraph or two describing the sensation as our lips came together for the very first time, using phrases like “reality bending” or “extinction-level event”?

What if I then wrote about my hand moving to your side to pull down the zipper holding that dress against your beautiful curves? Controlling the animal inside of me only just barely enough to make sure it comes off in one piece?

Or how I might not be able to continue to maintain that control while removing any remaining clothes keeping me from all of that skin that I long so much to see and feel?

Would it bother you if I then wrote about how I'd make you twirl around before me once or twice, so I can finally, finally take all of you in, in all of your beautiful glory? How while my imagination still has to fill in so many blanks, every time I've ever been afforded even the tiniest glimpses of new parts of you, they've always been and always will be better, sexier, more appealing to me than anything my poor little brain can provide? And how I just know, innately, that that will always be true, for every part of you, for the rest of our lives?

And what if I then wrote about how I'd lay you on the bed before slowly working my way down… your neck… your shoulders… your chest… belly… thighs… not a square inch being excluded from the gentle ministrations of my lips?

Could I then describe how I'd tease you a bit by continuing on down, down and down those endless legs, my hands smoothly running along your side to your hips…

(could I just write a whole entire letter about how obsessed I am with those amazing, agonizingly sexy hips?)

And what would you think if I then wrote about working my way back up, finally settling in to explore your lips with my own? And how I would make full use of my tongue's agility to delve between them?

How many words, how many paragraphs, would you allow me to describe my time here, and how I imagine you moving, what sounds you might make, how you'd put your fingers in my hair?

Would you say my name?

Could I possibly put into words the fire that would pulse through my veins as I pushed you past your threshold, and your body convulsed? Could I describe to you how what turns me on more than anything else in this world is you being turned on to the point where you lose all control?

Could I do it again?

And what would you think if I then described how I'd work my way back up your body, more quickly this time, with an undeniable urgency, and kissed you as I finally, finally found my way home?

Do I have the words to describe how our bodies would move together as one, lips pressing together, one of my hands in your hair, the other grasping that unbelievable ass?

Would you enjoy reading about how we would move like this until we both see nothing but stars, the sun and the moon exploding into a million shiny pieces of glitter glimmering in our eyes?

How about if I told you of how we would then lay together, your head on my shoulder, my arms around you, and just stay there, holding on to each other as if our lives depended on it… until we both gradually drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of doing it all again before waking up to a beautiful sunny morning. And doing it all again?

And if I did… if I wrote all of these things for you…

Would you do the touching for me?