SPENDING MY LAST DAYS WITH TENNIE It was the sound of her contented sigh that wokeme.Sleepily, I opened my eyes to the first faint rays ofthe morning sunlight attempting to peek throughthe still drawn curtains. There was just enoughlight filtering through the top of the windowwhere the curtains failed to cloak the room intodarkness, already chasing away the night with apromise of a new day. But a day I neither wantedto begin, nor end.She was still lying on her side facing towards me.Her eyes closed, still in sleep, perhaps dreaming,hopefully so.Only then did I notice my hand was still heldwithin hers as I lay on my side facingtowards her.Still firmly, yet comfortably entwined, my handrested snuggly within hers, both trappedbetween her legs where the warmthof herfemininity reminded me of the sweetness of thatlast explosive encounter.We’d known one another for years. But in all thattime we had never once spent the entire nighttogether. We had spoken of doing somore oftenthan not. But both circumstance and schedulinghad never coordinated together allowing us thatone precious moment we had so wanted to sharetogether. Late nights yes. But alwaysfollowed byregret at having to slip from the stillwarm bed todress, hurriedly afterwards going our separateways, back to our separate lives. It was the onlymarvelous moment on the most beautiful, passionate, sensualmoments any two people could evenbegin toimagine experiencing with one another.And I hated that.“God TENNIE… you’re beautiful,” I thought, as I layon my side, wide awake now, lookingtowards her.The room was still warm, comfortably so. Asthough the heated passion we’d shared that pastnight had lingered within the room longafterwards, never dissipating, covering us bothlike a soft warm blanket. Uncovered by any needof sheet or comforter, her Unclad form stretchedlanguidly atop the bed, still secure inher sleep,resting there like a perfectly sculpted statue thathad been chiseled in place, meant toremain asthe art she was, as the perfection she’d become.“I truly do love you,” I actually whispered, as Icontinued glancing towards her. Her soft alluringeyes still tightly closed, though their expressionhidden, still appeared to me in thought as Iremembered her looking into mine,our eyesmaking love just as intensely as had our bodies. Ipainted her portrait a thousand times as I laylooking towards her. I sketched eachand everyexpression of her face that I had seen, heralluring smile, the laugh she had given me when Ihad tickled her, and finally the vulnerablesurrender when her face grimaced in explosiveecstasy. Each one separate, yet a part of theother. A mosaic of such magnitude that in myown mind at least, I could rival the beauty ofMichael Angelo’s masterpiece adorning the highvaulted ceiling of the Cisteen Chapel.As my senses sharpened, awakening to the samedegree, as had my thoughts, I could now smellthe fragrance of her hair as I looked at it spreadlazily upon the pillow. Jasmine, Violets perhaps,and herbal scents too numerous to mention, eachone sharp, crisp, assailing my nostrils just as herwomanly scent had assailed me earlier, drivingme nearly insane with my lust and desire for her.Once again I heard her sigh, a reminder that timewas passing, far too quickly and I found myselfwishing for some magical potion thatwould freezethe moment, freeze time, keeping her asleep. Anapple perhaps, though non-poisonous, justenough to keep her contentedly in place, my ownSleeping Beauty.Still she slept, though I knew that before long shewould wake. I looked forward to her morningsmile, dreading however that moment when shemust rise and finally leave the sanctuary we’dcreated, the heaven we’d explored and existedwithin for a brief moment in time’s eternity.I watched the rise and fall of her breathing. Andin doing so, taking pleasure in the gentle heavingof her perfectly formed bosoms. Though small,they were firm, perfectly molded like twin fawnsof pleasure. Each, capped by two of the loveliestpink tipped Tips I had ever seen. Thememory,countless memories in fact, of nuzzling thatsoftness of her flesh, taking the hardtaut nubbinsinto my mouth gently sucking, licking each one inturn. The feel of her hand resting lightly againstthe back of my neck, holding me close, strokingme as I in turn stroked her with lips and tongue,lightly…ever so lightly, ever so wondrously untilher ever growing need beckoned to me.Looking at her, they were hard now, growingeven harder while she slept. Perhaps the mereprojection of my thoughts, so in tune with oneanother had we been, had aroused them inanticipation of my kiss, of my touch. I watcheddelightedly as they stiffened, bathedin the ever-growing light through the window. Yet anotherbrush stroke, another canvas paintedwith theshapes and shadows of light as they stole acrossher chest, highlighting her perfections,accentuating her sensuality, awakening her soul.I felt the moisture gather at the corner of my eye.I had promised her…no tears. With my free hand,I swiped away the single droplet thathad formed,betraying my thoughts, and my promise.Gingerly, I reached out, placing the tiny bit ofmoisture upon the tip of her bosom,kissing itwith my finger, watching the pink tiprespondever so slightly as it glistened brieflyin theapproaching light.I saw her tremble slightly, quiver as though cold,yet knowing in that subtle twitch of her body thatshe merely had responded to even that, thelightest, briefest of touches, just as she alwayshad, always would.Her entire body seemed to be one continuousextension of her se*x whenever she was aroused. Ihad never before met a woman, norfelt like Iwould ever know another, who was more in tune,more harmonic with her spirit and sensuality asFunmi was. Every nerve ending seemed toconnect to one another. The merest of touchessending out waves of goose flesh that explodedacross her body in an apocalyptic display ofarousal and need.I closed my eyes briefly remembering.Remembering the countless times I layed by herside, her back facing towards me. I rememberedthe lightest of breaths caressing her skin,remembered the waves of goose pimples as theyrose in excited anticipation. I rememberedcounting them in an abstract sort of way,marveling at even their beauty, naming each, asthey stood shivering, the finest of hair downy softand thin, standing up as prickled stems ofelectricity. And each tiny bump shared the samename…desire.And I would spend whatever time she gave me,kissing each one. Content to draw from her therapture of my lips upon her flesh, devouring andsavoring each tiny bump as though itwere afeast in and of itself.And as I partook of her flesh, as I devoured thatwhich was so freely offered me, it gave mestrength, gave me the stamina, and gave me thedetermination to pleasure her for aslong as ittook before the purity of our combined coupling,combined ecstasy, robbed us of our hunger,satiated the thirst and pacified for the momentthe longing of our internal souls.Though I wanted to remain within the memoriesof my mind, at least a moment or two longer, Ifelt her hand clench mine, fearfully opening myeyes, afraid of what I might see. But still sheslept, still contentedly holding my hand withinhers, against that which I had so frequently foundpleasure in, both in giving as well as in thereceiving. The silkiness of her mound tickled theback of my hand. I pressed, allowing my knucklesto further sink into the downy softness of her fur.How I had loved running my fingers through it,through her.I could still hear her gentle laugh echoingthrough my mind. Her near silent giggle as Itoyed with those silky strands of hairas theyslipped between my fingers, caressing each asthough each finger had become a probing,penetrating joystick seeking her depths, longingfor the liquid pleasures I would find there.Never had I felt such loveliness, never had Iexplored or been a part of such inner warmth asthat which she gave me, as that which sheproduced in answer to my touch, in response tomy initial gentle stirrings, preparing the wayslowly until unbridled passion and desireconsumed us, washing over us in a fulfillmentthat no other could ever hope to duplicate.I wished that I
