Reflexion Sentiment Stupéfiant (Remembering Feeling Amazing)

Why are perfect memories so unfixed? Why can't we remember intricate details of our most blissful experiences, but can remember the average rainfall in Zimbabwe, that you were taught in high school geography?

It's 107mm, the average rainfall in Zimbabwe.

Saffron could hardly recall the details of her weekend. She just knew it felt amazing. She could feel the memories, trying to grab at them, to hold them, felt impossible. Is this self defense, she wondered. If I were able to hold these memories, even for a second, would the intensity kill me?

Instead when she tried all she could recall was warmth, words and sensations. Remembering her experience in non-lethal slices.

"F**king you feels amazing," he said.

Attached to this slice of memory was an awareness of his hands on her hips as he knelt behind her, entering her slowly and firmly. She could feel all of him , every inch of him contacted her and sent the most luxurious sensations through her entire body. The memory feels so warm, she felt weak. She could remember that this was the 5th or 6th time that they had sex on that Friday night. As she explored that single slice of memory, like a catalyst, more memory slices revealed themselves.

She recollects stradling him, kissing him and moving her body against his. As he lent forward pushing her backwards, she let go of him, to steady herself. "I've got you," he said.

She remembers him running his hands down her semi-naked body as she lay on his couch. His fingers hooking around the side of her underwear before removing them."Turn over" he said. Obediently she did so, she felt his tongue inside her, the sensation was electric as his tongue skimmed the outside of her.

She recalls kissing him passionately in his kitchen. She wanted to taste him. Walking him backwards, in the way that that lovers do, ensconced in one another while also weary of unforeseen obstacles. She pushed him against the wall, her fists held clumps of the cotton of his shirt with impatience. Kneeling she pushed the fabric aside and kissed his stomach, undid his jeans and sunk her mouth onto him. When she returned to kissing his lips. "I have a confession, I like it when you use your tongue,"he said.

Putting together the pieces of her experience like a collage the memories made her happy. Remembering feeling amazing.

Nourrissez-moi le Chocolat. (Feed me Chocolate)

"Check this out," said Gavin.

The room was dark lit making the view of the entire city skyline from her vantage point, magnificent. It was a beautiful Sydney evening, still cold. Saffron liked the cold. So did Gavin.

As Gavin sat on the couch beside her , she nestled in closer to him to share his warmth.

"Check this out, this is good shit," Gavin brought a finger laden with chocolate mousse to her lips and fed it to her. Surprised and delighted she licked the offering off his fingers.

"Your right," she said, "this is good shit."

Gavin was blessed with an easy going nature that rendered Saffron instantly comfortable.

As she lent back behind him the sound of chilled rhythm and base enveloped her and she smiled to herself. She couldn't have orchestrated a better evening. Gavin's hand held her chin and in the dark pulled her towards his lips.

He held chocolate mousse on his tongue. For Saffron it was one of the sexiest moments she could recall. That second, where the penny dropped. He's feeding me chocolate mousse off his tongue!

It felt like it was in slow motion.

His silhouette on the wall as he lent slightly forward she could appreciate his broad shoulders. An elegant frame. Slowly turning to her and arching his back to reach her . The feeling of the cold , delicate mousse juxtaposed with the warmth of his lips caressing her. The mousse shared between them as they played with it, back and forth with their tongues. His kisses were like honey.

She could feel desire take hold of her and as if prompted by instinct alone her body moved, rhythmically, in time with his.

Over his shoulder she could see the nightly cityscape, hear the beats, taste him. This was perfection, thought Saffron.

... maybe continued....maybe not ; )

lancez d'abord la partie deux (First Fling part 2)...

What follows is the second installment of lancez d'abord, so if you are under 17 or have an aversion to soft core trash romance fiction then you may want to follow this link.

If you missed part 1.
At a readers request the protagonists name has been changed from Sally to Saffron.

lancez d'abord la partie deux (First Fling part 2)

"Hey Guys whats on tonight, Yeah! having a good one? I'm havin' a good one...want some company, yeah, love this place!?" Enter the stereotype.

There is one at every pub. They are in their mid 50's, they haven't had sex (without paying for it) since 1975. Their soul aim in life is to interrupt everyones evening with nonsensical ranting.

How am I going to get rid of this guy, thinks Saffron.

Saffron is intolerant of interruption. Dale aka. uninvited incumbent puts his beer on their table. Spying an opportunity, Saffron picks up the beer while Dale isn't looking and moves it five tables down. Dale turns around and in a state of alcohol induced confusion he thinks, "I'm drunk, but I swear I left a beer here!" Dale smiles, sways and sets off in search of his missing beverage.

"So, sex," she says.

Greg is visibly surprised, his eyes indicate as much. He didn't predict precociousness. Little does Greg know that Saffron is making up for lost time.

Struggling for the right rely in an unprecedented circumstance, Greg grasps at old faithful.

"Well, if it's the right person."

"Me?" says Saffron provocatively.

"Yes," says Greg.

Yes. It is the sexiest word in the English language. It means you win. You succeed. You get what you want. Right that very second, all Saffron wanted was Greg.

Standing and lingering in the moment, enjoying the game. Then slowly walking behind Greg putting her arms over his shoulders, leaning forward, she whispers, "want to get out of here?"

At pace heading for a taxi it starts to rain. Looking out of the taxi Saffron can see slices of the sky though office blocks, rain falls down the window obscuring her view. Warmth on her thigh, Greg's hand. Gently she moves her hips forward, increasing the angle of her thigh so his hand slips down further, his thumb tickles her stomach as it skims across the top of her jeans.

A dash from the taxi to the door, keys and hands fumble in the dark. The sound of the release of the door lock sounds like relief of frustration.

Unbuttoning her jeans Greg grabs her by her waist and lifts her on top of a sideboard by the door. Both hands around her jeans he strips them from her body , drops to his knees. Saffron screams, Greg's face buried between her thighs, holding the back of his head directing him. His tongue snakes in and out of her , grabbing him by the back of his shirt she brings him back up to her face, moving her hips closer to his body, kissing him and tasting herself on his tongue.

His hands around her arse and picking her up they kiss as he walks her down the hallway to his bedroom.The pressure of his hands drives her hips towards him and though his jeans she can feel him. Saffron draws breath before the impact of being thrown on bed sends shivers through her.

Standing above her in a half light, she can appreciate the entirety of him. His stature, his dominance.

Getting to her knees she crawls towards him, his manhood is distinct through his jeans. She grabs at his belt buckle, tearing at it. Sinking her mouth onto him, she can feel the raw heat of an evenings worth of anticipation.

Taking a condom from his top drawer, tearing it with his teeth to open it. Saffron takes it from him, putting it in her mouth she rolls it down the length of him, coming up to meet his eyes she whispers, "are you ready?"

Nodding submissively Greg lays down beside her, straddling him she sinks herself on to him. Slowly at first with an almost adolescent hesitation. As she feels his warmth filling her, from within deep her, Saffron feels her latent sexual identity on fire. This was who she is, free and sexually self determined. She felt alive.

Passionately they were together till dawn.

Knowing that this was all it needed to be for her, Saffron woke early. In the bathroom, putting on her face. She was content. This was her first fling. The first of many.

Stay tuned, weary travelers.

lancez d'abord la partie un (First Fling part 1)

The air was cold that night, cold even by winter solstice standards. The sky was clear. Sally looked up, she could see a universe. She felt small but comforted by her own insignificance and the reassurance of infinite possibility. It allowed her to feel that nothing she did really mattered.

In the outside courtyard of the intercity cafe the wind licked around her and she hugged her shoulders for warmth. Retrieving an antique cigarette case from her handbag she lent forward and lit a cigarette off the candle in the middle of the table. Reclining, she ordered a glass of red wine from a passing waitress.

Modern relationships don't seem to be able to exist without the internet. It connects us. It frees us. Sally had never tried internet dating before. This was the first fling, as she described it to friends. Some ridiculed her, others were pleased that she was finally putting herself out there again after a rather messy divorce.

Waiting for her date and her glass of wine she had already made a decision. She was going to have sex tonight, it was fait accomplis. It had been six years since she had really embraced her own sexual identity. Not to say that her marriage had not been fulfilling. However, in the previous weeks she had felt an element of herself awakening, like a wave within her, consuming her. A latent personality that had been buried in duty. She mourned. She reveled.

She needed a drink, where was that fucking waitress!

An irritating bleep of a mobile phone. The waitress returned with a bottle of wine. Sally hadn't ordered a bottle, but the error pleased her. Checking her message as wine was poured for her she expressed her gratitude with a shy nod.

Greg was running late. It occurred to her that she had changed her hair since the photos on the dating site where posted.

"oh," read her text reply, "you might not recognize me, I have black hair now."

"Yeah, well, I'll be the short, fat, bald guy in a Hawaiian shirt with gold chains, ok?"

"Well, at least you have the common decency to let me down gently, see you soon!."

Smiling to herself she drank from her glass. Liquid Joy. She lit another cigarette from the candle and took a novel from her bag. Michel Houellebecq. As Sally read of the sexual misadventures of a middle aged couple in a nudist colony in France she felt more alive and more explicit than she remembered feeling in a long time. Risk is seductive.

A tall blond man in faded denim jeans and a tight black long sleeve crew neck, looked at her briefly, smiled and kept walking. He was distinctive. Greg had walked right past her. Sally felt a pit in her stomach. He paused and turned around, cocking his head slightly to the left he said, "Sally?"

"Hey," she said. It amazed her how comfortably she fell back into the role of seductress.

Sitting down and pouring himself a glass of wine Greg apologized, "I can't believe I walked right by you, you look so different, your photos don't do you justice, did you know?"

"Told you," smirked Sally, "No Hawaiian shirt, I do love a good hibiscus."

Greg was striking. Comfortably six foot with a relaxed charm and blue eyes you just want swim in on a summer afternoon. Sally watched the muscles in his shoulder and upper arm flex under his shirt as he reached across the table to get a menu.

"You know I'm vegetarian but I'm not religious, you indulge in whatever you like," Greg said as he perused the menu.

I think I just might, thought Sally. When we are very fortunate we meet a person with whom sexual chemistry comes more naturally than breathing.

They drank, they laughed and the night wore on. They finished the bottle of wine and no one offered to take their order. Food was off the menu. Mildly angered by the poor service they decided to try another venue.

Greg was tall and Sally was small. He outpaced her in an effort to keep warm. Sally reached out and held the inner of his elbow to slow him. As she touched him she felt herself moved. Affected.

"I'm shorter than you, remember, short girl, little legs."

Ordering their second bottle of wine for the evening in a personable pub they found a comfortable nook opulently lit in which to enjoy it.

Sally ranted, as she often did, about social inequity and various other issues that she no authority to speak on but held a fixed opinion none the less. Greg said little but he smiled.

"You know your interesting," he said with a charming smile

"So, sex," said Sally, "do you do it?"

Stay tuned, campers.