Inner cinema

As I enter the room I see you standing in front of the wide open window while you look with a dreamy face at the sunset which is bathing your profile in a soft, red-golden light. Fascinated by the sight that offers itself to me, I pause in the movement and watch how a light breeze plays with your hair while you delightfully close your eyes and catch a deep breath.

So far you have not noticed me yet, you’re too lost in your thoughts and again I feel awakening that strange desire in me to touch you. A desire which irritates me, because until not so long ago nothing was further from my mind, than the wish to touch you. For a brief moment I wonder what has happened to me that has changed my feelings that much.

Lately I find myself wondering every now and then how it would be, to slide my fingers through your hair. Or just here and now, at this moment, I wonder how it might feel, if I’d snuggle up to your back from behind, clasp your waist and let my warm hands wandering off on your wind cooled skin under the soft fabric of your comfy lumberjack shirt.

Then I wonder if you would enjoy the caresses and if you’d let yourself fall into the magic of the moment, when I would put your hair aside and slip down the now half unbuttoned shirt over your shoulder so my lips can stroke gently like a feather along your neck the way down to your shoulder.

Also I wonder whether your breathing would speed up simultaneously with your heartbeat, and if a sensual sigh would escape your lips when my fingertips touch your chest, while I find my way back from your shoulder to your neck by taking turns with gentle kisses and playfully bites.

Startled, I wake up from my daydream rather ruggedly, as the wind strikes one of the two window sashes against the frame before you can prevent it and I pull back soundlessly, still unnoticed by you. Outside the door, I shake my head in disbelief about me and my thoughts and I wonder what’s gotten into me lately. All this is so not my nature and confuses me more and more.

 

© The Storyteller’s Garden

 

This story was inspired by an old photography which reminded me that I find it
much more erotic when bare facts are not presented straightaway, but when clothes leave scope for the imagination.

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About The Storyteller's Garden

Creature of the night ₪ ø ιιι ·o.
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