TO THE READER: The following contains sexually explicit material. For what it’s worth, please don’t read it if you are offended by such things, or if local laws forbid you to do so. There, I said it.
I’ll Talk You Through It,
by Nessa Culon
Are you relaxed yet? Seems that you are. Oh, watch out! Maybe a little too relaxed. That’s better. You can stand up okay? Good. Just keep focused on my eyes.
Your hair is just beautiful. Have I ever told you that? No, no, I suppose not. I’d like you to remove your hair elastic. There, that’s good. Can you smile for me? I’m melting. Seriously. I wish you’d wear it down more often. I love the way it frames your face, that cascade. Like you have copper threads sown in with the brown. I can’t normally tell you things like that. I’m glad I have the chance now.
Please slip off your shoes. Don’t worry, the carpet is very comfortable.
You make a lovely picture. Like a pastoral painting, but far more real. Your face isn’t too delicate, nor your hands or feet. Just strong, well formed.
The outfit leaves a lot the imagination, of course. I think that’s what drew my eyes in the first place. Anyone can show skin, but a few special women don’t need to. I hope I’m one of them, but I know you are. You know how to make a fitted shirt sexy. A fitted, beige shirt, long-sleeved, tucked into your skirt. Ankle-length denim is wonderful thing, even if it’s a little clichéd. If you’d been wearing a halter and a miniskirt, I might never have noticed you.
Keep looking at my eyes. Look hard. There you go.
There’s a zipper on the right side of your skirt, just at your waist. Can you find it? Don’t look away, you can find it without looking. There. Please take the zipper and pull it down, but don’t do anything else just yet. Stand there.
You told me once, in confidence, that you didn’t think you could ever be “sexy,” really. Never excite someone with your sheer presence. You were wrong, Miriam. I can feel it in my whole body already. I want to show you how wrong you were. You won’t remember any of this, but hopefully the ta’am, the… taste of the experience, will stay with you. You’ll remember that.
It’s remarkable to see the curve of your hip as the skirt slides down so slowly. I’ve never really seen it before. Outlined in soft white cotton like that, it could be part of a statue. The skirt is falling lopsided, though, because of the zipper on the side. It’s a beautiful sight, to be honest. Something about the asymmetry, modest on one side and exposed on the other…
Take off the skirt. Stare into my eyes with those eyes of yours and take off your skirt for me. Just let it drop, then step out. Ah, I was wondering. Let me look closer… Well, this is everything I’ve dreamed about, Miriam. I’ve never been able to understand the obsession with shaving that we all have, the horror stories from our mothers about what will happen to our legs. All I see is fine, soft hair. All it does is add to your natural beauty. You manage to impress me by not trying to impress.
It’s amazing how your shape is changed, now. I love how the shirt clings all the way down to mid-hip. It makes me want to stro… no, I won’t yet. I have to wait, to make it perfect. But it’s just so overwhelming to see you like this. It’s so strange that I’ve never seen a space between your legs at all, isn’t it? (No, I’m not really expecting an answer. I’m glad you’ve always worn long skirts. Maybe that’s why I wear them. Maybe I’m acting out my own fantasy for a partner. Maybe that’s why you wear them too… though we both have other reasons, of course.)
This new white triangle I see is totally captivating. The low-angled cut, it’s so you. Some part of you must have known that, I think. A few longer hairs are sticking out the sides at odd angles. What… I mean, what can I possibly say to…
Take off your shirt. Please, please take off your shirt. Do you want help? I can – no, no I’m not supposed to help. I said I wouldn’t. Can’t touch.
Are you… are you warm enough? I can turn up the heat. Okay, I’m glad. Your skin is incredible. This delightful, almost olive shade. You glisten, my darling. Can I call you that? My darling, darling Miriam, my dear.
Could you lie down? I would like it very much if you would lie down. Please. Good. On your back, but make sure you’re comfortable. I know and you know that sexy isn’t about silly poses. (Why people find the things in those magazines attractive — even captivating! — I don’t understand. Synthetic women in clown makeup, positioned to look like they’re presenting to be mounted by an ape, and that thing they do with their mouths, like stroke victims… I just don’t understand.)
You are the real deal. You are wearing white, and your skin. And the way your chest rises and falls as you breathe, it could almost put me under a spell as deep as the one you’re feeling right now, only I might never choose to wake up. I could gaze forever at your breasts in their white blankets, rising and falling, rising again. I would like that, if you would let me. I wish you would.
Darling, roll onto your stomach. Good. I want you to reach back and unhook your bra, but don’t remove it yet. Just unfasten. There. I want… oh, I want to lie down there with you, and rest my face on that wonderful, smooth back and play up and down it with my fingers. I would touch so lightly, in a way I think you would enjoy. It’s the way I touch my own skin when I think about you, and I’d be so happy if you liked it the way I do.
Return to the position on your back, dear. Be careful not to let it fall off, we’re not ready for that yet. Just breathe, and let me watch. They’re not in blankets now, but light sheets, floating over the surface. Breathe for me, my dearest, dearest Miriam. Breathe. Now, I’m not going to touch you. I want you to hold your arms straight over your head, and let me come over there for a second. I’m going to lift it. I’ve imagined this moment so long, I can’t tell you. Since we were teenagers. I could never tell you. So many times, when I’ve pleasured myself in the night, I’ve reached climax at this moment in my fantasy, this unveiling.
Can I even do this? I’m so close, so close to my dream and yours — can I really even hope that you dream of these things? — but it’s so hard to bring myself to do it. But I have to. For you. For me but even more for you, angel. I’m going to… do… it…
Miriam! Miriam, I feel like I could cry right now. You are so gorgeous, in all the things that make you different. Yes, I mean that. I know, you told me they were ugly, they weren’t even, they didn’t look like the ones on the actresses and models, and you were cursed. How could you be so wrong? How could you be so blind to such a burning light? I want to lay along you, and bury my head between your soft, beautiful, uneven breasts and hold you for a year, and then make love to you for ten. If you would let me, I would do that for you.
This is a sight I would happily wake to any day of my life. Do you understand that? Show me you understand that, please. I wonder if you can, right now. I don’t know how that works. I’ve never done this before. There was nobody to do it with before you.
Miriam, I want you to finish by yourself. You’re only wearing one thing, and I don’t want to order you naked. I want to be shown that you care. If you love me… if you love me after hearing all this, I’d like you to finish what we’ve been doing. If I could make you happy, please. All the things I’ve said to you, I could say to you every day of the year. Do you believe me? Please believe me. Whenever you’ve felt ignored or rejected by the ones you’ve pursued… please, please remember that I would have answered with this. The hundreds and hundreds of words that I’ve said for the love of you, I would have said them if you had ever asked me about a crush, asked me why I was holding your hand.
If you believe me, finish what we’ve been doing. Only if.
Oh.
My. Darling.
Please stand up. Yes. Come here.