Four writers for the price of one blog
It may have been inevitable, film student fucking engineer. The preambles – a blearily shared table at the coffee house, three dates of increasing depth and complexity, were suitably theatrical, the dynamics elegant. I, all angles, levers and fulcrums, modeled mental French curve templates over her skin as she revealed all of it to me for the first time. She in turn watched me, as if through an ocular, expression archival, as if recording me for playback. Differing backgrounds and tastes and opinions fuzzed and statticked onto an interference pattern of desire, and we found ourselves that fourth night, poised, achingly hard, droolingly wet.
We both knew what we wanted, and both knew we would get it. from two near-orthogonal directions, two different root motivators, we converged in action. There would be time – and need – for frenzy later. Now, our first intersection was something else. With the taste of her fresh on my lips we both watched, perspectives narrowed to a few arc seconds, as the lust-beaded tip of my cock first kissed between her vulva. Animal parts of both of us wanted to rut, and would soon, but this first moment, the physical, the electric pleasure of it had to share mind-space with the sheer hydraulic beauty of sinking into her, fraction by fraction.
Our foreheads touched as we both watched. I could almost hear the whir of the camera behind her eyes, capturing the moist stretching of her lips, the steady envelopment of hard flesh in soft, the shuddered breaths we both took, the infrastructure of our physicality poking through mesmerized intellect. Each for our own reasons, that first interpolation took over a minute, and every second of it is etched in my sense-memory. It was only when our pelvises pressed hard together that we moved to look wide eyed at each other and smile at our unspoken parallels.
Then, with each successive breath, I watched her observer, her recorder, fade; pupils dilating, lips parting. I knew – I felt – the same thing happening to me. Vectors bent, resonances unsynchronized, logic and order became immaterial. Our lips found each other’s in an undisciplined, chaotic kiss, and we moved with instinct only. The rest was pure, nondimensional, unencapsulated, unmappable.
It was, and is, our meeting place, where our worlds become perfectly congruent.
We visit it often as we can.