"He asked me if I wanted to dance...I said I might take a chance...and then he kissed me..."

The last time I saw him, I shattered his heart.  We were on a secluded beach in the Caribbean when I finally confessed to him that I was in love with another woman.  It was emotional, not physical, infidelity, but it was infidelity nonetheless, and it was devastating.

A year or so later, I'm sitting in his driveway with nervous excitement.  He's invited me for dinner and to see if there are any remnants of "us" worth salvaging.  It's now or never.  I take a deep breath, grab the wine and head towards the front door.

I knock and wait.  He answers, and we are alone.  I'm anxious for him to kiss me like he used to upon meeting: wrap his arms around my waist and pull me snug against him, lean in and press his closed full mouth against mine, eyes shut, breathing me in.  Even when the kiss was over, he'd keep his eyes closed, smirking and savoring, waiting for me to kiss him again, soaking me in.  Sadly, I haven't yet earned that kind of relishment, but I still get a hug with that "do we kiss or not kiss?" moment of hesitation.  No kiss.

He's prepping the vegetables and meat for dinner, so I go ahead and crack the wine, smiling and making small talk; our tension palpable.  We briefly toast to possibility before easing back into our roles with one another, him cooking and me entertaining.  I walk around to refill his wine glass when he finally touches me; he slides his hand down my back, to my waist, pulling me to face him when he kisses me softly, then intensely.  We can't stop, we're starving for each other.  He urges me toward the sofa and pulls me on top of him, never loosening his grip.  We are gentle yet frantic with each other, mouths, hands, arms, heat, flesh, legs, devouring.  Like a drowning person desperate for air, we are for each other.

He flips me on my back, gets on his knees, yanks my jeans off and buries his face between my legs as I gasp in delight.  He pulls my panties to the side to take a good look and a few teasing licks before sliding them down my legs.  Wrapping his arms under my thighs, he presses his mouth into my pussy and lovingly devours me, repeating only how much he has missed my taste as I swell in his mouth.  He is phenomenal with his mouth (to his credit, he's done his homework with Nina Hartley), and he knows I'll cum all the harder when he slides two fingers deep inside to coax it out of me, slowly...steadily...then just barely faster.  He's a tease, coaxing me, lapping at me till I'm just at the brink, pleading, begging him not to stop when he'll retract his tongue, his warm mouth still enveloping me as I throb and scream for him not to stop!  He smiles at my frustration and urgency, suddenly thrusting his fingers deeper inside me and making his tongue wide against my swollen, throbbing clit, making circles around my whole pussy till I explode in his mouth.  As I am still shuddering, he stands over me, dipping his tightly swollen cock in my mouth 3, 4 times to get it good and wet then stuffs it inside my pussy, stroking slowly first, then rocking faster and faster as he gets harder and harder inside me, and I know he's gonna cum.  I beg for it all over my tits, so he swiftly pulls out and explodes all over me as I rub it around my nipples, then lick my fingers.  Out of breath, we both collapse with giant smiles on our faces. 

God, it was so good and so overdue.  There is really nothing so good as reuniting sex with someone you loved, but, then again, there is NOTHING like in-love sex.  Nothing.  Even the best sex with someone you care about is never as good as average sex with someone you love.  There are just not enough words.

I've been open-hearted enough to have been in love (and have the subsequent amazing in-love sex) at least 4 or 5 times in my life so far, and for that I am immensely grateful.  I know it's life-enhancing, possible and probable if you can open yourself up to the emotional risk.  Yes, pain and heartache are equally as possible, but how else can you fully experience being alive?  I'll take the possibility of pain for the probability of pleasure any day.  And, although my ex (from this story) and I did not stay together, I will always be grateful for our times together.  For me, it's not about forever, it's about not missing opportunities in the present.

Just a little temple worship for your Sunday...or as Chelsea Handler said this week, "Men would get a lot further if they'd slide into third base face first!"  My thoughts exactly.

JN