Without realising it, in the process of all this rushing, I had started losing touch with my internal sense: my awareness of you seemed to be weakening until I wasn’t so focussed on your smell, didn’t as easily get the shiver as you ran your hand down my back. That’s when I knew it was time to make a plan.
“Honey, I’m going to book us a long weekend away in two weeks’ time. It’s non-negotiable,” I interrupted your automatic denial firmly as I saw it forming. “Wednesday’s a public holiday, so we take two days and we have five. We need it, we hardly even talk any more.”
It took you a minute, and I saw first the surprise in your eyes, then the realisation that we did need the break.
“You’re right,” you said hugging me for the first time in ages. “I’ll book the leave. Shall I get flights booked from work?”
“No flights. We’re taking a road trip.”
You grinned at that, clearly impressed. We did very special road trips – long, open stretches on desolate roads. I could see the memories fly through your mind, the gleam of anticipation enter your eyes.
The week flew past in even more of a frenzy than the weeks before as we tried to justify our days off at such a critical time. At last we were able to leave, well-armed with compilation CDs we loved; nostalgic driving music we could sing along to that included U2, John Cougar Mellencamp, Beatles, Kelly Clarkson, Amy Winehouse and a backup iPod for variety.
We sang, we chatted and at times just drove in silence, taking turns at the wheel, stopping every couple of hours to get a water or coffee and to swop drivers. And as we drove, we left our stresses further and further behind. I stopped thinking of budgets and was naturally focussing more on the colours of the landscape, the different shades of green against the piercingly blue sky.
We had child-like fun naming the shapes of the clouds that drifted by. When we got out of the car, the birdsong and chirping of the crickets was deafening. I realised that in my stress I’d deleted all the sounds around me that I didn’t have time for as I chased my career goals. Clearly on this trip I wasn’t only getting in touch with you, I was getting in touch with myself through my own senses again as well.
I was feeling deliciously sensual experiencing so many sounds and sights again. Suddenly I wanted more, my whole old world back. I wanted smell, texture and taste as well. It was partially a sexual feeling but it was also more, a re-awakening and a process of rediscovery.
You had been silent for miles, lost in your own thoughts.
“Can I lie on your lap a bit?”
We always had pillows and foam along to transform our seats into a bench on our long trips. The car was automatic, so the gear shift wasn’t a big issue.
“I thought you’d never ask,” you grinned wickedly. This was one of your favourite parts of a road trip, our tradition.
“I just wanna nuzzle,” I warned you.
I wasn’t feeling sexy, just sensual, and I wanted to enjoy the moment. You seemed to understand. Maybe you were feeling a similar awakening. Still grinning, you cupped your hand behind my head and pulled me down onto your lap, face turned away from you.
‘Hmmmm, that was more like it,’ I thought. I was enjoying the textures; your muscles, so taut and sinewy under your skin, the whorls of hair, beckoning to be played with and pulled. I ran my hand up and down your leg, following the lines, pulling gently on the hairs. Mmmm, I loved the smells that were so ‘you’. I hadn’t been focussed on them for months, but now they washed over me again, such a familiar pleasure. You smelled individual, a bit of soap and deodorant, but more your own underlying freshness, wrapped up in a little sweat from the travelling and a whole lot of arousal. It was enticing me to play and I didn’t want to resist.
You had one hand on the steering wheel and the other was lightly stroking me, up and down my side, skimming my hip, the defined indent at my waist, and up to the side of my breast. Gentle strokes that weren’t pushing me to go anywhere, they were just enjoying the moment.
Our next stop broke the comfortable but practical pattern we had set so far. As we got out of the car, you pulled me closer for a deep, loving kiss, holding me as close as you could for ages before we moved back into the real world for toilet breaks and fresh supplies. The distance between us that came from being practical rather than loving had relaxed and we were in constant contact again, holding hands, fluttering touches, knowing smiles.
We didn’t need to discuss that you were going to carry on driving, it was obvious. But this time, as I lay down in your lap, my head was facing towards you, not away. I still enjoyed the sensation of your muscular leg as my pillow, your masculine hairs tickling my smooth cheek, but now I had more smells and textures to enjoy and explore.
The cotton of your pants was smooth and thick, containing your lazily awakening cock with ease, but not masking your intimate smells. I breathed deep, savouring the moment, sucking it in; then I slowly exhaled, breathing my heated breath over you in a slow, steady stream.
I knew it penetrated your pants despite their thickness, further heating your already warming stiffness. Your groan proved that my breath had affected you, but your hand belied it. It didn’t falter other than a momentary tightening on my hip. Instead, you continued with your gentle caresses up and down my side, never getting more intimate than scraping the side of my breast with your thumb. Your message was clear; you were going to enjoy this and not rush a moment.
We drove like that for forever. You at the wheel, stroking me slowly; and me … just nuzzling, breathing, and sometimes humming along to a song. You weren’t inside my mouth, so the humming didn’t have a big effect on you other than the reminders of what could be, what would eventually be. Your cock had been steadily growing and was fully aroused. I watched in fascination as, hard and deeply scented, it twitched at me from time to time, responding to my cues. There was even a nice little damp spot above the tip, although whether that was from your pre-cum or my sometimes too-active breathing on your pants was debatable.
Slowly, my body had awakened with yours. Your stroking me had led me from the sleepy dawn of my senses reawakening to a place where my sexuality was again high, burning bright, and I was very, very hot. I must have communicated that to you in my little sighs and moans, my head pressing harder against your length, because you cupped my head and pushed it hard against you, arching your back up at the same time. I opened my mouth at last, and nibbled you right in, moving up and down in tiny gulping bites along your rock hard cotton-clad length.
Your hands on me became more intimate, crushing my breasts, rubbing my nipples, slipping under my skirt that had ridden up so high it was no barrier at all. Further, further, enticingly tracing the line of my panties until it slipped under, delving deeper and wetter into my secrets. And once there, I had no secrets from you, my desire for you was clear in my flooding dampness.
I started suckling you through your pants after which there was no doubt who the wet spot belonged to. It was both of ours. I could taste you as I sucked on the cotton, but my mouth-juices are right there with yours, unbelievably causing you to tighten even more.
Without warning you stopped the car, a sudden braking that had me sliding and grabbing on your lap. You used that space to unzip your shorts and lower your pants. There you were, juttingly eager, with new tastes and textures inviting me in. I had no thought of refusal. As you lowered yourself again my mouth slid right over you, taking you in deeply, sucking you as far as I could. My teeth grazed you slightly as I pressed down even further, and my hand joined to cup and gently knead your balls.
I gently hum with the radio as Stairway to heaven played …
There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold
And she’s buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows, if the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she’s buying a stairway to heaven.
The song started off easily, slow and dreamy, just as we had and built and built.
As it built, so did we, in sounds, in kneading, in intensity. Your whole body was arched as my mouth and hands worked together in complete harmony with the music. You groaned, your hands on my head, encouraging, guiding, begging me to take you over the edge. You were so close, needing your release, but I paced it with the music, not allowing you to cum too soon.
And so it built – the pulse of the music, and the thrumming inside you, higher and higher until you were in caught up in the crescendo of the music. The music built and burst, crashing around you and with a deep, long suck. You crashed too, spurting everywhere, clutching at my head in your long-awaited ecstasy.
And she’s buying a stairway to heaven.