Back Home Tonight

It'll be late when we get home tonight. I'm writing this in the departure lounge at Gatwick while waiting for our flight to be called at the end of our holiday. The pile of junk we're flying in doesn't land until 11 this evening and we have a full day of work tomorrow.

But don't for a moment think that we are just going to flop into bed and sleep. We've been without sex for too long. We haven't made love, or even cuddled properly, for days.

Not that I'm complaining, you understand. We've been staying as guests in the houses of friends and relatives and even before that, when we had an isolated mountainside cottage all to ourselves, we didn't make as much use of the solitude as we might have done. There was so much to do and see, so much planned for the next day, that often a good night's sleep seemed the best option.

But tonight, in the comfort and security of our own bed, we are going to put all that right and with several days worth of pent-up juices aching for release I can promise you one thing: It's going to be messy.

Sure, I am longing to feel the grip of your firm, moist flesh on my hardness, to devour your lips as I pummel myself deep into you, to hear your short gasping breaths and cry of climax as your stiff clit succumbs to my fingertips. But at that final instant I am going to pull away and spray gloriously over your soft skin. On your pushed-together breasts, on your neck, your belly or in the hollow of your back, I don't yet know. All I do know is that I've got a lot of it saved up, a token of how much I've missed making love with you these last few days.

It seems such a waste to hide it away inside you.