If These Walls Could Talk...

Our auditeur sharing circle continues today with a tasty tidbit from Craig Sorensen, who always delivers ear-pleasing prose that resonates with emotional authenticity. I have to say I really enjoy hosting these casual salons. I feel like I should be handing around cookies and sherry--maybe I'll go whip up a batch of pecan bars anyway?--while we read our work aloud, lounging on Indian print pillows, our sighs and murmurs of approval only adding to the enchantment of sounds.

Maybe some day my fantasy will come true?

Until then we can enjoy this snippet which comes from a piece entitled "Through the Ranks." I think it's an excellent example of the pleasures of compare-and-contrast. If taste tests can help you appreciate the qualities of cinnamon or chocolate, why not sex?

And now, here's Craig:

I kissed Isabelle’s full lips gently, savored the nape of her slender neck. In the next room, a pounding akin to John Bonham playing a drum solo was in full swing.

Seemed the louder they got, the softer we became. I looked in Isabelle’s eyes to see if I could find a bit of the jealousy I felt. She was so quiet, so intense. I traced the folds in her ear with my tongue. When I held her body tight, I could feel her pulse rush. She moaned into my mouth when I introduced my tongue after long, massaging closed lip kisses.

She eased my shirt over my head.

The rhythmic pounding of the headboard in the next room was accompanied by throaty moans, approaching crescendo. Isabelle and I lay on the bed and stared into each other’s eyes. My cock was only semi-hard. Given the beauty of the woman by me I felt inadequate. The rhythmic pounding grew louder. The image of Jeanette’s body, the song of her joy, her passion became more consuming.

My cock grew to full hardness.

Isabelle unbuckled my belt and pulled down my pants. We resumed kissing, and I stroked the front of her silk panties, then dipped down to her soft pubic hair. She reached in my boxers and cupped my hard on. When I dipped a finger into her she released only her second moan.

Her body was like a jeweler’s safe, responding ever so slightly to the turning dial. I began to comprehend her silence, and tried to find new means to divine a third moan – let the tumblers announce another magic spot.

I peeled her baby doll kissing every inch of her skin until I settled between her parted thighs. We took turns, nestled in pillows atop the freshly stripped bed, one sprawled across the bed while the other knelt and feasted until the wild moans and thumps next door abated.