Grandma May Go to Jail for This, but Before I Forget

Sex to me was naked and spontaneous. A sudden surprise while washing dishes or a mahogany bump on a Conference Room table after hours; with suits being pushed down and up and giggles echoing through empty halls. Pull the stop button on the elevator and drop to your knees; skillfully, quickly having your fun and arriving on the Penthouse floor, reminding him of his zipper. Being bent over the back of an armchair while in t-shirt and shorts. A tug and a thrust and there you are. And best of all, half-asleep, wrapped in flesh, in the dark, sleepy kisses with your fingers in his hair. Silky liquids in the dark, opening, filling...and what are the words for the waves of pleasure a man can cause? Electric is too harsh and even “waves” is too simple. It is about flesh and blood and feeling pleasure move down your arms and legs to your fingertips, which are sliding down his back, completing the circle of joy. And your mouths, your mouths all greedy and kissing till the lips are sore and the tongue immobile. And it’s over and you dash through cold air to pee and he follows behind you naked and hops up and down till you’re done and you trade places and he opens the lid and points as you put your arms around his bare body and then you run back to bed through the cold and throw the covers over you and cuddle close. This was sex to me.