Saturation

I find myself craving a weekend away with you; away from the stresses of work and home, an opportunity to wallow in my senses. I want the time and leisure to saturate your senses and immerse you in a lazy, languid, wanton state. I want to spend a couple of hours in a hot tub, letting the stresses of the week melt out of the muscles of my shoulders. I need the stillness of a steam room, anonymous in the dense fog, listening to the condensation drip from the tile. I want to stand in a cold plunge until my bones ache, and then lower back into the hot tub and feel the burning pins and needles of my skin adjusting to the heat.

I want to lie in a darkened room with you, and listen to the waves crash outside. I want sufficient time and leisure to lie curled with you in a dozen different positions, pressing close and enjoying simply being with you. I want to spoon against your back, wrapping my arms around your chest and pulling you close in to me, burying my face in your hair, nuzzling your neck and shoulders, kissing just below your ear.

I want to lie out in the sun with you, lazy, languid. I want to rub oil over your body until you purr, making you slick and slippery, feeling my skin slide against yours. I want to share a plate of fruit with you, the cool, tart taste of sliced apples, the earthy flesh of ripe figs. I want to float on my back in a warm blue pool, drifting slowly across the surface.

I want to sprawl across clean white sheets with you, watching the noon shadows crawl along the walls towards afternoon. I want to read quietly with each other, the whisper of pages turning, stretching a leg out to rub against your leg.

I want to knead away your tension, untying the knots in your muscles. I want to walk that fine line, pressing and squeezing hard enough to elicit a gasp and moan, but just short of making you cry for mercy. I want to stretch your joints open, making you unfold like the petals of a flower, loose, yielding.

I want to shower with you in the darkness, feeling the hot water pelt our bodies and filling the room with steam. I want to massage shampoo into your hair and scalp with arched, rigid fingers, making your eyes roll back and your body slump against me in release. I want to lather you from head to toe, sliding our soapy bodies against each other, making the most of the minimal friction. I want to scrub your back until it’s pink and exposed.

I want to explore you, finding your buttons, trying to exceed your capacity for pleasure. I want to whet your craving into a sharp and vivid need, and then overwhelm you with a release that seems to have no end.