A fantasy shared is a fetish born.
Old friends, but not with me, he wouldn't. He talks of his mom who strayed from his dad. He talks of protecting a family from the destruction of an affair.
Birth control. "What do you and your husband do," he asks? He has had a vasectomy, I tell him. Oh well, that would be an issue too, he says. He has found another stone to put in his wall. Another barrier so that he could stay safe.
I know better, I know how the barrier he is putting up can be knocked down, can be scrambled over. It's easy when I'm consumed with the need to touch every inch of him. The wall he puts up in front of me is what is allowing me to push, to be fully ready for what he can accept from me. I know that if he lets his wall down, then..... well then, I will play the aggressor, pushing in the cracks of his life. It's the afterward, the feelings that are unknown. And that doesn't matter either right now.
But I can't push him. I can't cross the barriers he's put up. He would retreat and disappear. And I would bear full responsibility of the actions because I moved towards him and he didn't come towards me. Right now, I can't take that. Right now, I am farther out than I ever have been in my life and I am scared.
For now, I am to stay away. That body is not for me; other bodies are for him, yes. Hot, hot sex with others. And sometimes cold, tight, dry attempts that don't end in satisfaction. But me - who has all these memories, these images - no, I'm on the other side of the wall I've created with my family.
There is no touching of hands, or knees, or hugging. No caring gestures. Why would there be? I walked back into his life after 5 years of marriage, after more than 10 years since we were together and here I am lusting. He says he was surprised when I asked him, but now he really isn't, now it seems inevitable. He talks about a connection between the two of us, how after 5 years we still can just talk. I think about his erect penis in my face.
The administrator isn't of interest to me right now, not really, all I really want now is the maleness in his pants. The maleness I know he carries in his caresses and touches. His backrubs and hairpulls; his lust. His way of knowing me sexually. But I see no evidence of any of this. Just my memory. The desire of him, to have him, to have him have me, take me. With every drop of his maleness. Yes, I'm a mother, a wife, a partner and not to him. But right now my only desire is to be a woman, a woman fucked by a man. This man beside me.
We talk about friends and I remember the time we hiked all day up a mountain to take water samples. I see us standing on a jutting rock at the top, and looking down over the lake far below. He unzips his pants and releases his erect penis It springs out, unfettered, eye and head jutting proudly out. His body the pole, his penis the flag, advertising him - a man. A man at the top of the mountain. A man full of lust. I sink to my knees on hard rock and take him into my mouth. Slowly, a lick at a time, I savor the sweatiness of him. I try to get my mouth over him, but I already know I can only get my mouth over the end of him. The shaft still there for my hand to slide over. I feel my saliva, my spit cover him and I lick my hands so that my spit covers them too. Until my hands, his penis, my mouth, my face are all squishy and slick. And I suck, and lick. I am lusting and I see him out there wet and bobbing, silly and beautiful in its maleness. And when the time comes and he releases his juice, I let him spurt all over me and then move away to let him spray onto the mountaintop.
A woman on a mountain.