She lied down on me. That was strange, that frail, light body that didn't crush. We kissed breathlessly, like the day before. Her hands started caressing me. It was soft, light, two bird wings that brushed my breasts, my hips, my thighs, my belly.
Our sexes close together, like cheek to cheek, without anything separating them.
The feeling of this bush caressing mine.
A hand slipping between us, looks for me, finds me immediately, and touches me, and becomes insistent. I'm melting, I'm liquefying.
Her mouth leaves mine, slips along my neck, my shoulder, my breasts that she embraces, gently, with her hand still holding me tight, suspended. I know what's coming. I know that her lips will touch my belly, that her tongue will replace her hand, soft and nimble. And, that gesture that I had accepted with such difficulty from Guy, because I was ashamed of it, because it made me uneasy, because my sex became a slimy cesspool of saliva where a large, thick tongue moved without direction, because in too many directions. Suddenly, I desire that gesture with my whole being. Her tongue replaces her hand without the exchange interrupting the movement, the tension.