Belly Buttons

She has a large pregnant belly. Lately, she has been feeling alone. After all, she is the one carrying the weight.

But she doesn't know her husband has been watching; he is always paying attention. He's been observant of her movements becoming slower and slower, of her words becoming scarce, of her eyes becoming deeper.

She can barely bend now, she can hardly walk, she has done so little for herself lately... So he watches her sleep, as if they just begun sharing bed, as if he met her with her belly and fell in love with her and her belly, as if her belly was the first point of attraction he set eyes on.

Her night gown had rose above her belly button, revealing her pink panties half hidden betwixt her thighs. Her right hand covered her large breasts and neck as she heaved sigh after heavy sigh. Her husband begun caressing her belly, and slowly removed her arm. She woke slightly, but her head was half in dreams yet.

He revealed her breast and sucked on it for a while, and felt his wife arousing quickly. Then, with his hand, he went between her legs.

He touched her till she woke, he touched her till she went moist, he touched her till her lips parted and she let him in. He kissed her till she sighed, she sighed until he did, she came onto his fingers and he onto her thigh.

It had been so long since she had done something for herself...

By Our Selves

There is a picture on my desktop of a woman sitting on a chair, she is wearing trousers, smoking a cigarette. She is wearing no blouse. Her small breasts are free of restraint and she wears them proudly.

Another picture I have is of a grown man sucking on a woman's nipple.

I look at these images and wonder how many of us, female humans, are proud of our breasts. Their shape, size, girth, how they droop or perk, how they feel when we touch them, how aroused we feel at their sight.

I wonder how many of us would walk around our very own houses without a top on, and feel it to be natural.

Me, I would love to be naked all the time. I'd love to wear clothes only when leaving the house, and with no underwear at that. I'd love to come home to my partner, leave my outer outfit on the chair and continue my day wearing only my skin. I'd love to feel his skin against mine, all of it, whenever we hug.

What an excentric world, this one, where we hide from our very selves.

Recurrence

I had a dream, I've been having it for many years now, in which a woman is making love to me, or I am making love to her.

She is always the same woman, Her hair is black, her complexion is thin and delicate. She's fearless. Her face may vary, sometimes she looks like a girl, sometimes like a fragile woman, sometimes like a lioness. Sometimes she makes love to me, sometimes I make love to her.

Every time it gets better. Every time I let her in further into my soul, I care less about her seeing the pleasure I experience from her touch, or I care less that she will be off put by the way I touch her. I've learned she likes it, too.

The right kiss in the right place.
The right pace of movements...

This time we were at a cozy hotel by the beach. Our friends would never suspect our actions, we were totally free.