“Who is that woman standing there?” I ask myself.

’That's your girlfriend.’ I reply.

“Yeah, uh huh, yeah, but who is that woman?” I repeat.

’Dude, It's your girlfriend of years.’ I too, repeat. If I’m going to argue with me, the least I can do is stop aping what I say. Sure, I like the sound of my own voice, who doesn’t, but I’m going to bore myself to death.

“But that woman is glowing.’ I say. “My girl doesn't glow… not any more.”

 With a sigh, I answer. ’You stopped looking.’

“But I see her nearly everyday.” I argue.

’Only with the most narrow of vision.’

“Yeah, alright.” I concede. “So… Who is that woman by the window?”

I am really pissing me off. ’DUDE, ARE YOU RETARDED? IT'S YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!’ I shout.

“Hey, hey, no need to shout.” I tell me.

A lazy Sunday afternoon and I am attempting to relax and finish reading this novel I started days ago, but my favorite reading chair feels like burlap and sharp edges. I cannot concentrate with this woman standing there unwittingly tempting me, torturing me. I can't take my eyes off of her. With the afternoon sun creating a corona of light across her silhouette, an angelic glow, a living painting… ‘Madonna at the Window’.

In a calmer, but exasperated tone of voice I say, ‘I'll stop shouting if you get up off your ass and go put your arms around her as she stands now with her back to you. Go on, get up, go!’

“Alright, alright, I'm going.” I say, thinking that I’m going to kick my ass if I don’t stop being so friggin’ pushy.

’That's right, slip your arms around her.’ I counsel. ‘Mmmm, see, just like Baby Bear’s bed; not too soft and not too hard… just right.’

“Ooh, Yeah, that is nice. But…” I waiver as I deeply inhale the scent that followed her into this room.

‘But what?’ I snarl as my patience wears thin.

“My girl doesn't smell like honey!”

Damn! Here we go again. I answer ’Yes, yes she does!’

How could I have forgotten? It's true… she has, as long as I have known her, smelled like honey right off the comb. What on God's green earth could possibly have distracted me from the beauty and grace that is my girlfriend? How long have I been blind to the needs of this beguiling creature? How long has it been since I last took a long lazy scenic tour of my girlfriend?

’Far too long.’ I growl, chagrined at myself. How dare I allow myself to forget the grace, beauty and sensuality of my Girl.

My hands rediscover the curves and hills and valleys that make up her topography. Fingers following half forgotten interstate highways, byways, canals, rural routes and back roads with the occasional detour for the exotic scenery to be found there. Putting a new spin on 'Getting my kicks on route 66'. My mouth finds purchase on the fertile landscape of neck and shoulder, the slightest hint of soap from this morning's shower underneath the earthy natural taste that is the essence of her. My right hand cups her left breast, pressing her hardening nipple between my middle and first fingers. Gently rolling the darker flesh of her nipple between my knuckles as I caress, with my palm, the heavy and nearly translucent flesh of her breast.

In a slow steady rhythm, I press my stiffening penis against her glorious rear end with enough pressure to emboss my helmet shaped glans onto the flesh of each round firm denim covered cheek. With my right hand busy in the northern mountainous regions, my left hand leisurely travels the lonely, yet lovely Midwestern prairies of her stomach and abdomen. Stopping for a rest on it's intended destination to circle and become reacquainted with the perfectly concave hollow of her navel. A delightful diversion this adventure in spelunking.

She hangs her head slightly forward so that my hot breath is on the back of her neck. Breathing deeply, inhaling her sweet honey and musk aroma I slowly lick and kiss the skin nearing the thickening forest' of her hairline. Feeling the small fine hairs brush against my lips and tongue as if Matisse was painting a Big Blue Nude on them. Tasting her sea salt skin and leaving an oil slick of saliva I detour and run my tongue across the speed bumps of her spine like a drunken tourist. And I feel like a tourist with no map. I could get lost gazing upon the beauty of my girl. Lost in her deep inviting eyes. Lost in the moment.

Slightly farther south nearing the sultry humidity of the jungles of the Amazon my hand travels the length of her zipper marveling at the difference in texture of her skin and the rough denim. Following down the ridge of her zipper my first finger and pinky start to spread as they search for, find and smoothly slide into the slight creases between each thigh and the thicker outer lips of her sweet, cotton covered vagina. With ever-increasing pressure my middle and ring fingers press in a circular motion the thick seam of her jeans with ever-increasing pressure until her head falls back onto my waiting shoulder, moaning deeply with the unselfconscious assurance of trust and comfort. Back arching, pressing harder and harder against my straining erection in a rhythm as primitive and raw as tribal dance...

Let me know what you think of the begining of my little erotic story. I will send the completed story (when I am finished writing it) to you upon request.