The Return of my Bien-Aime

Disclaimer: this is not my real life. I've been reading so much, er, fiction, recently, that I have to have an outlet. This is it - my fiction. Enjoy it or run screaming from your computer screen. Either way, it's better than that pic of Bourdain that I had up here for a couple of weeks...

It has been a while, and we are awkward as we negotiate our encounter. Who is responsible for making the first move? Who is the taker and who is the taken? Questions, second-guesses, the uncertainty begins to set in as no one will move. In the end, it is more than I can bear, and I step up to him, a silent plea in my heart for his response.

The softness of his lips against mine is like balm on my soul. Gently catching and parting, we communicate our desire through their tentative and tender movements. Our eyes are closed as our mouths mesh and meld, blinding us as we slide our eager fingers over one another’s familiar contours.

Mine is the first moan to escape, as my spirit flies free and wild, exulting in the joy of being wanted. His follows soon after, as my hand cups him boldly through his jeans. I topple my bien-aimé back onto the bed with a grin. Shoving up his shirt, I busy my mouth with dropping open-mouthed kisses on his stomach. His sighs as I press my face to his abdomen are sweet to my ears. My fingers slide further up under his shirt to sift through the hair on his chest, raking a flat nipple. Leaving a damp trail, my tongue skims up the ridge of his ribs to toy with that nipple, provoking a stronger response – a groan pulled from his throat is my reward.

Eyes open this time, I straddle his hips and lean in for a blazing kiss. Tongues that were timid earlier are now venturesome, and strain against each other, twisting in the passion now ignited. His mouth is delicious, minty and male, but it is a different taste that I crave today. Gliding my mouth south, pausing to leave my invisible mark here and there, I feel his body jerk as I imprint a soft kiss at the crease where his leg meets his groin, just visible above the low waistband of his jeans. Almost gleeful in anticipation of his reaction, I undo the button and zipper, and smooth my hands down his thighs as I smother my smile low in his stomach.

Ah, my bien-aimé, it is good to have you back.