Ten fingers graceful in the small of her back, more
graceful than she thought they could be. Less than a
massage and so much more than a simple touch. A lower
temperature than the two of them share at the chest,
yet it is those fingers' heat which she can feel most
strongly, moving up and down her spine, releasing each
left-over tense muscle and mundane concern. Her lover's
sigh anticipates her own, and she notices their subtle
growing and shrinking in phase, breathing rates
Once sufficiently aroused, the entire body becomes an erogenous zone. Past a couple's initial unfamiliarity, past objections and misunderstandings, past any hint of embarrassment, lies the level of comfort at which this may become true. Movement toward such an ideal state requires neither well-understood knowledge nor an ongoing improvement in technique, but instead the deepest form of intuition.
At some point one hand arcs over the curve where back
meets waist, over buttock meets hip and hip meets
thigh. Slow enough that it warms every inch of skin
it crosses before moving along. One finger is pressed
in slightly more than the others, it traces a linear
topology with no uncomfortable minima or maxima, no
jolts or gaps where its derivative would undefine.
One trusts in only being taken to higher plateaus of pleasure, that no dramatic changes will disturb the all-important concentration, enjoyment. The other works within this trust, attending to every change in speed, temperature and pressure, to every hitched breath and movement toward or away, no matter how subconscious. Together they communicate subtle desires through the unwritten unspoken unlanguage of touch.
One moment she is connected to it, feeling the warm
skin and soft sheets and supporting embrace, feeling
fuzzy tingle from every finger that touches her
skin. The next all that is blown away and she is
moving too without even knowing it, returning such
pleasure with less than conscious thought. Here they
are truly together, here her every small unspoken
wish comes true.
When it arrives, it is to know the very meaning of the word synergy, or maybe synchrony or synapse. Loss of conscious control is no longer a mistake waiting to be made, but a necessary sacrifice allowing respective limbic systems take over in its stead. Each little lizard-brain knows which movements will feel good, because to even imagine them feels electrically good to it. Across that boundary no movement can be made that doesn't give the other some tiny push toward eventual climax. Across that boundary all touch can only be sensual pleasure, and all surfaces can only be erogenous zones.