Email all feedback to PastaGrrrl@gay.com /~PastaGrrrl/ Thanks for reading. This one is not yet finished. I am putting it on the shelf until I can think of a suitable ending. If you have any suggestions...email me. Fierce Have you ever felt as though your heart took up the entire expanse of your chest? Have you ever felt as though you could love the entire world, no matter what? She does that to me, you see? They all do. But this one in particular...is a drug. I imagine. I imagine all the time. It’s all I have. That’s why I write. I imagine I’m straddling her, as she’s seated on her couch, in her apartment. Her small, cramped, hot, apartment. She could live no where else, because this place embodies her. It’s who she is. I’m straddling her, kissing her. Or rather, she is kissing me. Anyhow, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s fierce. Tongues, running into teeth, running into tongues, running into cheeks. My hands are on her face, on her neck, tangled in her hair. Her very coarse, unruly, hair. She uses her pointed tongue to tease my lips, and wet them. She knows what she is doing. She is driving me insane. I am relishing our depraved act too much, and I can’t stop. She can’t stop. There is an unspoken pact between us. She lowers her hand and squeezes my breast. How forward of her? My hand slips down as well, mirroring her movements. She slides under my shirt and inches it up, exposing my skin, exposing my ribs. Her hands are hot, boiling, as she caresses me. They leave a trail of shivers behind. I am a robot, moving, doing, not thinking. I am listening to my core. I am listening to what I know I want. She lifts my shirt off and her hands immediately return to my breasts like magnets. I am straddling her. I am moving on her, wanting more. We are kissing. I bury my face in her neck, trying to soak up every ounce of her cologne, trying to commit it to memory. I am crazy. My hands are on her waist, on her breasts. I too pull her shirt up, revealing, like a scroll. Her shirt is off and her breasts are free. She is amazing. Amazing. A whisper that she is beautiful escapes my lips. I don’t think she hears it enough. And my head descends. I kiss down the expanse of her chest and pay homage to the right one first. Her nipples are so different. So different than what I’m used to. They are small, pink, and they suit her. Very recognizable nipples. Beautiful. I take it and tease it. Nip it. She is responsive. She is pushing herself at me without regard. Without embarrassment. I am hearing sounds from her I never thought I would hear. Her breath is shallow and quickened. Mine is too. Our breathing is quick, but the moment is slow. Like a scene in a film displayed in slow motion, you watch meanwhile your heart beats out of your chest. Our bodies come together like velcro. We are sticky and sweaty. And our nipples are touching too. These moments are like grains of sand, so few and far between in life. Such luscious moments, never happen so often. She pushes the envelope by toying with my waistband. The button, the zipper. Except she’s not toying, she has a goal. She has her hand inside my shorts, inside my panties. I want her entire hand inside me. It would be just fine with me if it burst right through my back. She knows women and she knows me. She’s an expert. She’s playing me, drawing me out and leaving me a few inches from the edge. Her fingers are pushing into me. I can feel her. I’m grabbing on to her head, her hair. Holding on for dear life because I want to make it last. I don’t want there to be anything left of me. Her hand is wet and her movements slick. Does she love the fact that I’m about to come on her hand? I am pounding back onto her with a savage rhythm. She sounds like she is about to come, yet I haven’t even touched her yet. I’m losing my head, inaudible to my own self. And so I let go, turning myself over to her demands. My head wrenches back as I try to get her further into me, one last time. There is a blackness, an abyss, as there always seems to be for a few moments after. But is it heaven? Is that exactly what that is? But I come to and we are still on her couch, and my eyes and ears are hungry. My fingers are hungry too. I reach down to her and she is so wet. Panting. Her breath tells me to continue, that she wants it. I want to take my time, but I also want to own her now, right now...