A more bilateral approach becomes imperative, especially after your own warm, soft, and now quite wet hand slips under my robe to join my own knowledgeable digits along my pulsing length, with a mingling of our slickness reasoned by nature to be the more perfect by unification.

You're drawn to engage your heightening senses more fully, my understanding complete.  A swift desire to install by imitation, my own warm strong and likewise wet hand, (to meet one of your own) directs my next move. I find you gaily involved and expressive in what your own hand is providing for you by way of self-touch.

How earnestly your participation spreads your gifts upon my receptive vessel, my every cell awake in wonder at your careful slow linger upon my urge. My own curious and desirous engagements find an equally receptive guidance as each curve and valley acquires the knowledge of my own slow careful and light touch. An approach to your own busy hand finds such an adequate rhythm, to teach and guide my growing aptitude and care to abide by your desired pace and approved methods.

How diligently the mental notes are taken, memorizations pasted deeply within our cerebral passageways, as each shows the other splendid preferences, as each upon the other's hand, might we rest our own for study.

How tethered the senses become as this simultaneous conquest of skin-scapes comes to fruition, painters brushing, and sharing the finest oils, my canvas offered to you as yours is presented to me. How careful the craft of self-administration, displayed with the hope that the other will take notice and follow such amorous leads. What finer dance could take place but this procured, as each the others hands join to assuage these mingled common fires.

Carefree and carefully each layer is peeled away as exploratory eyes are catered to exquisite visions only previously hoped for, those desirous visions we now discover displayed. How adequate the songs become, fierce such moans and lyrical such sighs that harmonize and cascade. A convulsive and shuddering bridge forms between us, a delicious deluge of desirous enterprise and gait that binds us. My hand is slickened by my own and by your own advancing emollients which now combine, and vice versa as you trade those oils you brush with, for my own.

Whose hips might fight against gravity first, an urgency of genitalia's primitive persuasion, rising up to meet the other's advances, in desirous melt and swoon and yearn? These rising hips to expedite the searing touch and tender meet of hands, to offer more the advantage to each the explorer of the other, new terrain for discovery and wonder of sensation.

Whose newly advantaged reach might garner the first gasp and quickening of thrust?  Whose newest secret touch may elicit an excited current, an electrically charged surge,  and ever wetter flow? What grasp of mounded flesh, that supple quarter rising to meet, might be hefted to self, in concert with another's voluntary rise?

I see you hovering, poised in demeanor and positioning, such calm beauty awaiting her just reward, enough control for self investments to earn the expected interest, yet open to the good guidance and steering by he who awaits her ride. You're saddled upon my flanks and core, stealing your moments ahead of what I myself will take at length, later. With learned ease and unhurried pace, there is a divulged openness about this mingling entanglement.

In turn, a reciprocating atonement is procured as anointment for one another's deep desires, a delicate foisting of flirtatious attitudes to perk, and appease one another's thirsts and appetites. Come upon me, love, as my rising attitude persuades your lusts and fiery resolve to situate over me, your wet and wanton entries. My own pent up needs urging my allowance of your visiting silks, your learned and loving awe. May my bliss run fluid and copious, a heated reminder of your own rampant needs.

~~~

Later that night...

He enters through that latch that is left to his avail to open, hoping once inside he'll repeat this described process of the earlier encounter.  He momentarily ponders a vision of delicate alluring draperies clinging to her sumptuous frame.  What such fineries might she await him in this night?  His heart beats longingly, like some primitive drum.  He's prepared well his oratory of persuasive verse, hoping she'll approve, and react in manners that matter most to his own erotic tendencies.

He's tried hard to create something that might stimulate her beyond all concern for self-consciousness or reserve. To see her squirm, to hear her sigh or gasp, or moan, to know she can't help but unconditionally surrender her desire and freely touch herself in his presence, this would be such the delightful demonstration of his resounding success.

As he wonders about her whereabouts and what she's wearing, he realizes he's losing his own sense of control, as a swelling give-away begins to emerge against his thigh.  

"Mmmm, how madly I want this tonight," he speaks to the shadows all around him. 

He imagines to himself some seductive view awaiting him, as he reaches down to lightly stroke the blossoming bulge, wishing he was within her view. He thinks about the verse he has constructed and the erotically charged pageantry of it all, and he trembles.  

"I hope she likes what I have to share with her tonight, my verse so earnestly prepared," He says to himself.

She has been more than patient. She has been taken to the edge of passion, reading what he has shared from afar, in the dim light of her room, late at night. She has trembled and yearned to see him, touch him, have him.

The noises in the house alert her to the likelihood he has entered. She hopes she is not mistaken. Was that his motorcycle pulling up, or simply one passing by? Was that the latch of her door, or just a creak from a settling timber like she frequently hears when all else is hushed?

As she focuses on any sound, all she can hear now is her heart. It's at an accelerated excited rate, as well as her breathing.  She's well prepared for this visit, a new nightie chose carefully to accentuate her, "soft cuteness," as he once coined, this newly purchased currency of satin she hopes he'll invest his attention on wisely.  She wants to be well spent when he's had his way with her. She wants to be a treasure he desires to invest all of his focus on, all of his accumulated experience put well to use.  She wants to be his interest, compounded!

He's uncertain whether to make more noise or less. Does he alert her to his presence as to not startle her, or instead use the element of surprise? After all, she's half expecting this, at least he hopes. He certainly doesn't want to give this maiden a heart attack with fright, but the fun of a surprise seems most tempting. Just then he stumbles as his toe catches the unseen leg of a chair. He curses out loud unconsciously, nearly knocks over a lamp, catches it, as he retrieves his balance and pride. He realizes the element of surprise is folly now, but also that she may be alarmed.

He's left with little choice but to announce his arrival.

~~~

"It's only I, milady. Don't be alarmed, Tricia, only this clumsy trespasser arrived as promised, allowed to invade the shadows of your dreams, as pre-arranged." 

I fear my wish to surprise is well dashed now, perhaps just as well for her tenderest of hearts. 

"Are you there, somewhere above or here on this very floor, or am I to once again search you out?"

My state is now quite delayed in any hopes for early inflation, as I am more than filled with fear for alarming she who awaits my arrival and conquest, than filled with arousal. A need to find her, to calm her if she's alarmed, and to share the sight of each other prevails now, as I hurry about the darkened home to discover her whereabouts. Is she once again playing her games, teasing and testing me?

Suddenly in the distant shadows, I hear it, that unmistakable sultry cry and moan, my name called aloud in quarry.  My senses begin an immediate recovery towards my previous state of arousal as a familiar tenting appears beneath my shorts and an urgent pulse accompanies. My own moan marries hers within the shadows as I hurry forward towards her lustful cries.