Press and Lather

How would it begin? Well... Do you remember the walks we used to take? Such a scene can start there easily enough.
It would be one of your freer days. A hard day at work, a long day for me, we would drive to get you your favourite snack from that store you held close to your heart along the main street. And after, we would take a walk through the nearby park. You always did delight in the peace of it all. I myself remember well. Those eyes you used to give me by the water, the slight agitation you used to exhibit when you were horny. The playfulness by the rocks and in the glades. I relished those moments, knowing when darkness fell, and silence could be ours, those deeper, buried, restrained parts of us could be unleashed, and thrown against each other in passion.

Indeed, when our sojourn in the outdoors would complete, we'd return home, and you'd laugh, and we'd joke, and our company would flitter away the time and the day. Once the trip was done, I'd give you that look, you'd give me that one in turn. The way you smirked... you'd batter your lashes. ever so slightly. . . that slight linger. . . Oh gods... those days were heavenly.

Time would pass. And time would only simmer our lust. the ticking of the clock.. the waiting for the other to come by again. . . I knew you'd enjoy the tease.

It was only a matter of time. When supper was had, when thirst was quenched, we found each other, and small talk would go back and forth. Neither of us remembered the content of that discussion - with one exception: How the day had been so terribly tiring for you. How wearisome it all was, how relaxation and stretching out would surely do you well.

You'd agree, labour the point... and then...
Those eyes, that composure... you couldn't hide it from me...
Those eyes, that pause...
That slight tilt of the head...

And before you knew it, we were in your room.