He took his sandals off as we were sitting at the bar, I love the fact that he felt more comfortable without them, even in public. After an interlude of conversations with some friends at a nearby table, he turns to me, leans in and touches my forearm ever so lightly and says that he wants to continue our conversation. At this point I am more than happy. His smile lights up the room and is dangerously sexy. We are talking about my favorite subject, sex. He wants to know what makes my top lovers so great. Instead of telling him, I want him to show me what he thinks a great lover does, but alas, it is I that must divulge my inner workings this night. What I said and what I really wanted to say were two different things. I wanted to tell him how I love hearing impassioned breath in my ear and on my body and then to show him. I told him about how a lover must be intuitive, responsive and engaged, but I wanted the experience and not the words. I didn't tell him how my favorite lovers grind into me sometimes, pressing my clit hard, making me cum. Oh, and kissing! I want to feel with my lips! Kiss me gently sometimes, hard others, kiss my nipples and my pussy, my belly and my ass. I want to feel all of the pleasures of your body and for you to feel all of mine. This is something I was craving to show him, but did not. While telling him about my most intimate moments and the need for my lover to know without asking if I have cum or now, I was imagining moving and dancing with him, naked and exposed. At the end of the conversation, we stood up facing each other. It was strangely magnetic and lovely.
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