I usually wake with an erection as a matter of course.
That morning my partner had taken advantage of the fact mercilessly, so I had found myself waking to the unique sensation of my manhood being enveloped in warm, wet, and slippery flesh. It took me a few seconds to reach the conclusion I wasn't dreaming. Wonderful, though certainly unexpected.
It certainly beat a damp flannel, an elbow in the ribs, or (the most frequent) a pair of cold feet on the bum. In fact I'd go so far to say this method, along with similar scenarios involving mouth or (warm) hands, are about the only times I wake without any desire at all to go straight back to sleep again. It also helped that the alarm hadn't yet made its usual strident call.
So, on first opening my bleary eyes were treated to the sight of her right there, rocking slowly back and forth over me, silhouetted against the dawn with the sun rising right behind her flattering her long dark hair with emerald hue. What a vision. How she'd gone about getting the curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows open without waking me was a mystery. I guessed she must have done so maybe about half an hour before when it was still dark, and planned the whole thing to achieve this special effect. If so it had been well worth the effort, from my viewpoint at least.
I reached behind me and plumped the pillow under my head, all the better to contemplate the insanely erotic view before me. I took in the whole for several heartbeats, the blur slowly resolving into a sharper image as my waking eyes cleared. I traced the curves of the gold-rimmed silhouette from top to bottom.
Then slowly up again, taking my time.
First the rounded hips, rocking, rocking, intimately connected between with the wonderful sensation pulsing in time.
Then the curve, gently inwards to her slim waist. Not so slim as to appear fragile, she was no Barbie, but showing a smooth curve with hardly an ounce of padding to mar the perfection of the line.
Then up, up her body curved out again. Smooth once more. Now a distinct kink as my gaze reached the lower edge of her rib cage, then easing towards the vertical, approaching but not quite reaching it before...
Breasts. Round, firm, seductive. Not seen in detail, with the dawn behind her most was in complete darkness still, but the outer edge thrusting just beyond the outline of her torso, breaking the established line with their own curve. I kept my hands behind my head still, relying on vision for my sensory input. Yes. Breasts. Relatively small, high, and firm. I considered their texture, smooth and soft, firm but yielding, aureole darkening as the nipples harden beneath my lips...
No. Stop that, it's cheating. I could see neither nipples nor aureole within the dark silhouette. By the rules of the game I was not permitted to think about anything I couldn't see. Well, apart from the warmth and pressure below of course; I might as well allow that point of contact as there was no way in hell I could possibly ignore it however hard I tried.
Hard it was of course, and hardening a little more as my body slowly beginning to emerge from its hibernation and more of my internal systems came on line. Harder again as it moved out, then back in...
Back to the silhouette before me, reprise the line.
Out, then back in, just a shallow hint of golden coronal illumination curiously serving to emphasize rather than distract from the hard outline.
The line of her torso re-established itself briefly above the breasts, then broke outward towards arms and shoulders. She was holding her arms out and slightly down. Strong and well muscled though not tightly clenched, passing beyond the frame of my attention roughly at the elbows, like one of those moody nineteenth century photographic plates which fade to black around the edges
Sepia the scene was too, in the golden dawn light. All she'd have needed was a couple of palm leaves and an asp or two to pass as Cleopatra in one of those 'educational' or 'cultural' early pictures so beloved of a certain class of Victorian gentlemen in dimly lit smoking rooms.
Back to the shoulders. Broad and square, strong but still fine-boned and light. Athletic, specifically gymnastic rather than shot-put I thought. Have to ask some time. Dark, wavy hair descending around them, thick but with enough of the bright early morning light making its way between the strands that the underlying form was still completely clear.
Above the shoulders the abrupt transition to neck, not sharp though, relieved from suddenness by pronounced trapezoids. Probably athletic in origin again, but almost certainly strengthened more recently by the years of feigning attention in long boring board meetings.
Board meeting / bored meeting. I'd never noticed before the irony inherent in that juxtaposition of concepts, despite my own long familiarity with both aspects of the beast. I laughed internally but, not wishing to spoil the moment, made sure no sound left my lips.
As you can tell my mind was wandering a little, but I assure you it wasn't from boredom. I was still half asleep, in that sort of delicious dream state where the semi-conscious mind makes free associations on the instant, where sometimes the conscious and subconscious minds can seem to swap places for a few moments and the brain can multi-task in a strange though admittedly limited way. Suffice to say I was still fully cognizant of all that was going on at my nether regions, and enjoying it immensely, while also able to contemplate both the view before me and my own musings in parallel.
Back to the view before me then. I realized that the alignment of sun and partner wouldn't last forever, but would pass in a very short while like a solar eclipse. Time to make the most of it.
Trapezoids, I struggled not to think of massaging them at the end of a long day. Yesterday. I struggled not to remember the feel of her smooth warm skin beneath my hands, the muscles and tendons below that, the slight motion of her breathing... slowing... slowing as she relaxed... all overlaid with the aroma of warm almond oil...
Stop it! Stop it! Back to the here and now.
Onwards to the neck then. Symmetrical and slim but once again not Barbie. Sharp curve in, then gentle curve out again. Slightly longer than average perhaps, but not excessively so, flaring to...
It was hard to see now, her hair was thicker closer to her head of course. I was just able to make out the line of her jaw. I knew it to be strong; Angelina-Jolie-ish you understand, rather than David Coulthard. Once again the probable result of years of jaw-clenching and tooth-grinding in those same board (bored) meetings.
I attempted yet again to put aside my foreknowledge and concentrate only on the light actually arriving at my eyes.