I close my eyes: a kaleidoscope of white, blue and yellow lights fills the darkness of my tight eyelids, a numbness that slowly slides into every part of my outspread body.

His lips slip on the articulated geography of my epidermis, giving me shivers in every part of my body that is possible, instruments of holy devotion to the relic that my being represents for them, a god of pleasure that I invoke while panting every time the tip of his tongue makes, almost imperceptibly, circles around the zones he kiss.

Hearing, with closed eyes, is one of the first senses to refine and increase its intensity: every whistle of his lips that breathe, every rustle of sheets against the heat of our skins, every moan that causes me, the sound of his mouth after sucking parts of my body, the heavy burst of silent where it seems we are living.

 His fingers tickle my feet, climbing up his legs until quickly and voraciously going inside of me , a whirlwind that makes me aware, of those harness full of desire, that his phalanxes have always been there for me; The taste is not taking too much to arrive, our tongues dance to the tango rhythm, DNA is exchanged while my hand leans on her neck, a lifeline to not drown too soon.

 The movement of her fingers continues undaunted, twisting inside of me as if I were a ground to explore, his lips that mingle with me, making me taste the mint flavour of his chewing gum and the smell of tobacco from the last smoked cigarette at the party we met; My nose got a sandal and vetiver note – Egoiste by Chanel I thought, smiling inside me for my sharp olfactory sense – it gets me drunk, stunned me and dragged me into a semi-confused state induced by that orgy of different and intense sensations.

 His fingers deprive me of their contact giving me a sense of emptiness where before, hot and tireless, they penetrated my soul; his hands, hasty and ardent, move across my body almost skiing over, discovering new worlds and testing the shapes of my unknown and new physics: how many people are unexplored cities where we do not go in for fear of letting them getting in our ? How many etiquettes often deprive us of the marvelous involvement that only the union of two bodies with desire can generate?

 My reflections stop at the exact moment when, moved by the fire inside of me, I sip every area of ​​his skin with my tongue, slipping to the center of his being between his legs, a salty taste given by the sweat of his epidermis and reaches its climax as soon as I find my lips and tongue full of sour but satisfying taste of the tangible proof of his orgasm.

 Caused by his climax, mine didn’t take so much to arrived, my tireless hands that were at the center of my pleasure increasing the speed of fingers on it, the smell of mint and tobacco and their taste lurking on my lips in warm and braised breaths.

 “Come for me,” he says, his tongue slips on the thigh tendons of my neck while his breath whispers in my ear: “Now.”

 As responding to his command, my eyelids close by recording the vision of a total perpetual candor, a silent, silent world that invaded me by all the senses, starting from the head and then going down to the rest of the body, the feeling of falling and of rise at the same time that filled every fiber of my being; I ride that strangely sensation completely abandoned .


A hand tends towards me, his amused tone: “However I am Claudio, pleasure.”

“Emmanuel,” I reply, smiling, “But you can call me however you like.”