Morning Fantasy

For the past few days, I've been waking up with the same thought. You know how it is when you lounge in bed for a long time, not wanting to get up, and then there's that damn alarm clock, and rain outside the window. If only I weren't alone…

The room is cold. My palm slowly

glides over my chest, almost hugging it, caressing it. I like my breasts — they're just the size men call "a handful," not too big, but not too small. Just right.

My tank top gets in the way, and I push it up.

I imagine what my girl would do if she were here. If we woke up together.

She loves to play and tease me, nibbling on my ear and kissing my shoulders, then my breasts, then that especially sensitive spot on my neck, until I literally sink into her lips with a greedy, ravenous kiss. My hands stroke her slender neck, tousle her already unruly hair, her body… my body clings to her, feels her curves, it seems, with every inch of my skin.

And we continue.

The bed is narrow, but we don't need much. I pull off her t-shirt with some anime characters on it, kiss her neck, her breasts, go lower and lower… No, stop, too soon. It's not just her turn to tease. I can do something too.

I press her palms into the bed and start covering her with kisses, sometimes light and quick, like dandelion fluff, sometimes long, deliberately sensual, after which you want much more. But I wait, wait — until she says something.

She arches, as if wanting to both break free and press against me at the same time. Every touch of mine elicits a new sound from her, a new expression on her face, as if she is some exotic musical instrument, and I, essentially, am the composer. Damn.

— Alina… — she says, while I hug her waist, — Alina, kiss me…

And although she doesn't finish the sentence, I know what she means.

Her skin is so delicate. I'm still teasing a little, stroking her stomach, kissing her thighs. She places her palm on my head.

— Ohhh.

Tender, pink flesh, a pungent scent. Her body seems to be electrified — she reacts to the slightest changes in the movement of my tongue.

Oh yes, and then, when you tell me about some boring everyday things and problems, I'll remember your face, thrown back, with your mouth gasping for air and silently screaming my name, with short hair sticking out in all directions…

Come on.

She gasps convulsively and pulls me to her. We lie there.

Then she, with just her lips, barely audibly says:

"My turn."

I open my eyes. She has such a sly look.

***

And in my room, the alarm clock rings for the third time. I think I know what I'll tell her when I see her at work today.

And maybe tomorrow, I really won't wake up alone.