How is desire born? What's going on in the other's head? Confidences of a man and a woman in the heart of the intimate.
Bruno: "My pleasure is my desire"
When I think of you or look at you, my desire approaches, light, between my head and my sex. Nothing still moves or swells, except perhaps a laughing promise. I like to be awake. My pleasure is my desire. I slip into you and ask, just before touching you. Tasty approach, even chaste. With my fingers on you, everything becomes true. Where to put them? On your belly? In the hollow of your waist just at the birth of your hips? On your breasts? Is not that fast? Each time, I feel like improvising, as in jazz, from a known and loved theme: the journey begins.
My desire is to meet yours, make sure, rejoice in the effect it makes you. My hands glide over you at leisure, redraw you, sculpt you, open you up; you shudder. I want more: my lips seek your neck, my cheeks the silky nooks of your skin. My happy inner tension goes up a step, every time I check the firmness of your thighs, or the curve of your kidneys. Your body is stretched out, my arms enclose it, stick it against mine, your chest softens mine, my legs find yours, slip into them.
My pleasure is this desire, more than this or that specific sensation of epidermis, it is the desire to invest you, that I like to make grow. All my actions want you to hope, eyes closed. Sometimes, I leave my sex as a spectator. My caresses have put you on a path where my desire wants to train you as far as possible. He seeks your enjoyment by touching you, pressing you in a thousand ways, leaving my mouth to chew you, my lips touch you, upset you. I want to wait to fill myself with this strength that you stimulate with a sigh, a complicit look, a confident smile. I become the flying carpet that surrounds you and takes you away.
My desire lifts us together and feeling it fills me. His appetite is growing, he will not stay there. If you have already enjoyed, he will revive you as long as he has strength and desire. I enter into you, sometimes gently, to savor every millimeter, sometimes suddenly, as if magnetized. My eyes close to see better inside. I know you so much, I discover you every time. My desire comes and goes, amnesiac explorer and delighted to be so. Well warm of you, he takes the controls, amplifies our movements, accelerates our rhythms, strikes you like the swell of equinox the beach. It takes hold of you, curves you, turns you over, opens you even more, as if to know everything about you, to push your extreme point further.
Are we going to jump into the sky together?No, not yet, it's too good, we must bounce back, it remains to discover. Feeling almost on the top, I feel my desire to leave us alone for a moment. And there, suddenly motionless, mixed with you, unable to know who is who, I leave my pleasure, this time alone on stage, spread subtly throughout my body, the memories of this crazy desire. Cuddled tenderly in you, I almost feel like a woman.
Marion: "Feel your desire for me"
My desire seized me unexpectedly, as usual. I finished working, my hand still held the pen with which I had noted some corrections, I felt tired, with the only desire to sleep, and then I saw you. I might as well be annoyed because you made three phone calls while I slept the children. So, why is it emotion that, despite everything, comes to grip me and not resentment?
In any case, when I see you sitting sideways on the bed with your belly a little round and your thighs muscular, something comes to live that was not there a few seconds before. Something that appears in my body at many places at the same time, chasing away the notions of time, fatigue, all those constraints that belong to my diurnal life. Something diffuse that softens my neck, warms my skin, softens my shoulders, languishes my legs, moistens the palms of my hands, my armpits and the surroundings of my sex. I continue to look at these columns, your beautiful thighs, which were, the first day, the first part of you that I wanted to touch. Because my desire is born to find, day after day, those parts of your body that move me, I do not know why, and these daily gestures that make you particular, unique; your fingers when you spread them slightly to smooth your hair, your step a little stiff, the smile you just spoke to me when I discovered that I look at you. So I get up and I go, the mischievous eye - it's you who say it, I do not know everything about my eyes - sit astride one of your thighs.
This is not won. A little dry voice could suddenly invade my head and remind me of the late hours of sleep, this record that is not ready, concerns about children, or just this huge energy that will have to be deployed. if I let myself go to this delicious softening that wins me. However, the fire takes you while you slip your hands under my sweater to caress my back with a slow movement and my hand ventures to the hair as soft as a young grass lining your belly. How many times have I done this gesture, and yet this intimacy between us still troubles me as much.
But it's fragile again. You jostle me with your elbow as I lie down on the bed and it discourages me, disturbs the harmony in which I wrap myself; I could give up everything.But your tongue goes up from my shoulder to my ear where it whispers to me those stupid, worn and adorable words that are magical to my desire, impelling it a new passion. I tip you on the back and my gestures do not belong to me anymore, they are linked, obvious, uncontrolled, and my eyes are closed so that I am better present to this swell which seizes me. And I feel your body that also forgets all control, dig in all my folds to better flush my pleasures. And if my concentration falters, I can reopen my eyes at the right moment to discover yours wide open and looking at me, and this look that you have on me then whips my desire for a new blood. And when I finally feel your body is only a huge expectation turned towards me, tense in the desire of me, then my own desire is increased tenfold, because it is especially to feel your desire for me that is maintained mine.
There, nothing can stop the power of this climb, my gestures disappear, yours too, and there are no hands, no lips, no tongue, no arms, no legs, but a powerful current burning and moist which weaves us to one another, mixes us, connects us. And I do not know if it is you who are in me or if I am in you, we are no more than a vast expanse of skin that moves under the desire like a banner in the wind, hoping for this explosion of enjoyment that will annihilate our desire ... until next time.