Wednesday, March 09, 2005

You step into my room. The soft, flickering orange-yellow glow of candlelight fills the space. In corners and on shelves the candles create bright, starry points of light that punctuate the warm glow.

The soft, sweet smell of vanilla and sandalwood fills the air. The light smoke from the incense stick creates small clouds of softness that bring the sultry nights of Madras across the oceans. The slowly swelling strains of Mozart's Symphony no. 36 add the final layer of thickness to the room.

I take you by the hand and lead you to the bed. Slowly I undress you, gently removing each layer of clothing until a small pile lays at your feet.

I kiss you on the head, where your soft hair and forehead meet. I squeeze you close to me, and embrace you, envelop you, warm you.

You lay down on the bed. I undress. You are laying on your stomach. The orange glow, the musky smell, the sweet music, all relax you and make your skin tingle.

I throw my legs over you and straddle you. I reach over to the night stand and pick up the bottle of massage oil. I pour it into my hands, I rub them together. I pour some on you back and on your shoulders and begin to rub your tired flesh. My fingers move slowly and firmly up and down your back. They squeeze the knots and strain from your shoulders. Your neck softens under my thumb and forefinger.

Your back, your arms, your legs, your ass, your hands and fingers. For an hour every piece of your flesh becomes a wet, oily, place of bliss.

You feel my slick, hard stomach rub on the small of your back as I lean in and rub your neck.

After an hour of the smoke, music, candles and fingers your body is relaxed, your mind is at ease, and then...