You keep teasing me under these stars. You lean in ever so close; I can feel your breath mix with mine, your lips invade the bubble around mine. And then you back away, and I can see the sky, but your eyes are burned into my thoughts, a soft hazel I can just barely make out.

You’re the girl of my dreams, and this is the scene of my dreams. I want you to pinch me. I want you to reassure me that all of this is real. I want you.

I try to reach for you, but in the moonlight you give me a look. I put my hand back above my head, as if they were tied; and aren’t they? You’re mesmerizing in more ways than one. You throw the blanket over both our heads--what now?

Your shirt comes off; I can’t see it, but I can hear and feel the rustle. You rest your chest on mine, and I feel the bare skin melt into me. Breasts softer than clouds, but nipples harder than diamond. The sharpness of our chests cut each other just as your hands roam the canvas of my skin.

I never thought I would feel okay shirtless, much less that I could show my chest to others. I never thought I, too, would have the clouds upon my chest. It always confused me when other women saw breasts as shackles. For me, they feel like wings.

You tease me again, leaning in as if to give me a kiss, but this time I can’t stop myself. I pull my hands down and bury them in your hair, I-

“Hey! I haven’t said you could let go y-”

Your weak attempt to hold back, to maintain the fantasy, falls flat as your lips melt into mine, as I move my hands down your spine.

We laugh as I roll you over; we’ve left the safety of the blankets and the grass tickles and caresses our skin. But we laugh into each other, twisting and turning like nothing is left but us two, as if the moon did not stare at us in witness.

My lips leave yours in search of another; suddenly, they’re at your ribs. I sow kisses like crops, a field planted on your chest, the tallest crops above the mountains of your areolas, seeds flying back down. My lips move to your thighs, where I kiss every part of your skin except your pussy; you have to wait for that.

“Stop teasing me!” you protest. It seems you don’t enjoy a taste of your own medicine.

Suddenly, my tongue is out, circling your lips like a bird of prey. Finally, you can’t take it, and it is you who submits, burying your hands in my hair, pulling me into your pussy and forcing your lips to kiss me back.

My tongue is in you, searching for something, it seems. And just when you had forgotten my hands, they appear on your breast, pinching and tugging your ever-hardening nipples.

“Ah...h…” you moan into my hair, failing to form any words at all. You’re lost, bewildered by the overwhelming sensuality, my hands on your breast, my tongue inside you.

Finally, I pull my tongue out, but you can feel it coming back before I even touch you again. I circle again, this time around your clit. I barely touch it with my tongue; I breathe on it. Your grip on my hair tightens. I begin to lick; your fingers dig into my head.

And as I continue to dance on your clit with my tongue, you moan so much louder. I half expect someone to arrive with a flashlight, catching us in the act. But I don’t care. You’re close, so close, so-

“Ah… ah… mmmm...” and with that you explode under my mouth, almost screaming, clawing at my back, at my neck, at anything you can grab, because it’s too much, oh, too much for you to handle. It’s a dance--your pussy the tap shoes on my lips’ floor.

And breathless, you open your mouth to begin to speak. On the third try, you manage two words:

“Now… you.”

And with that you move to slide my boyshorts off, revealing the place where the part of me I hated the most used to reside. But now it’s something else, and I have no worries as I bare all to you.

Now it is you who rolls me over...