I had just gotten out of the shower when the doorbell rang. Damn! I knew I should have started getting ready earlier. Now he was here, and I was naked and dripping!
I smiled at that thought. Put that way, it didn't sound so bad. Still, not quite the way I wanted to start the evening.

I mostly dried myself off, threw on a robe, and made it to the door just as he gave into impatience and rang the bell a second time. I raked my fingers through my hair a few times, a token substitute for my usual preening, and made sure my robe covered as much of me as possible.

Not that it's got that tough a job, mind you. I'm somewhat petite, with modest (OK, "slight") cleavage, but even so, the robe has a tendency to separate at the top. But it is flannel, and soft and warm and extremely cozy, and I don't ordinarily entertain guests in it. Wearing it, I mean. *Me* wearing it. At least not guests who haven't already seen everything underneath. He didn't fit this category.

I put on my hostess smile, and opened the door. "Hi," I said, the master of small talk. "Come on in."

"Thanks," he said, and did.

I waved in the general direction of what passes for my living room (when it's not busy being my guest room, dining room, or office -- this is a *small* apartment). "Make yourself comfortable. Sorry I'm not quite ready."

He made no move to sit down. In fact, he made no move at all. He stood there, not really staring at me, but more... studying. Not the leering kind of study you'd expect a man to make of a woman wearing only a robe. Oh, he probably gave me a quick once-over while I was waving around and making excuses, but, if so, it was over before I noticed. Now, he was scrutinizing my face, as if trying to memorize every detail. I studied *his* expression, looking for some clue about what he was thinking, but could find none. I felt myself starting to blush at this unexpected attention, and lifted an eyebrow, an unspoken question.

The gesture snapped him back to reality. Now he was blushing. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Actually, you look..." he trailed off, embarrassed.

"Yes?" I prompted. I was regaining my composure now, and no longer blushing. I was intrigued, and intensely curious what he was thinking. His sudden shyness, so unlike him, was a turn-on. Blushing made him look even cuter.

He hesitated, probably weighing how honest he should be. "Beautiful," he blurted out. Suddenly, he looked straight into my eye, his confidence returned. "Honestly, you look quite seductive." He held eye contact waiting for my reaction.

As his confidence returned, mine again faded. I felt another blush coming on, and looked down. I was embarrassed by the compliment, and unsure of how to respond. If I was turned-on by his shyness a moment ago, his confidence, and honest boldness, were at least ten times as exciting. I was keenly aware that my body was shielded from his view by only a thin layer of flannel. I was sure that if he dropped his gaze, he couldn't help notice my nipples hardening, but I knew he'd never stopped looking into my eyes, though they were no longer looking back at him. I also knew he didn't have to look, to know my nipples were hard, and that turned me on even more.

"Thank you," I managed to say. My voice was weak, almost a whisper.

"With no makeup, and your hair still wet and uncombed, almost wild, you are incredibly sexy." He paused, giving me a chance to reply, but I couldn't find my voice. "I'd like to kiss you. A long, passionate kiss. The kind of kiss that joins two souls, and makes time stand still."

A closet poet -- who would have guessed? That fanned the flame of my lust. I didn't want to stop. I raised my eyes to his, pleading. "And then?" I whispered, an urgency in my voice betraying my feelings.

"Then," he said, "I would slip my hands inside your robe, and reach around to your back. I would kiss you again, as I caressed your soft skin, working from your shoulder blades slowly down to your buttocks."

I dropped my gaze again, and stumbled towards the couch. The flames were getting hotter, and my breathing was getting heavy. I was getting light-headed, and needed to sit down.

I was dimly aware of him following me as he continued. "I would gently stroke your beautiful, firm, little ass."

Somehow, it seemed sexy, rather than crude, when he said it. I let myself drop onto the couch, leaning back with my eyes half-closed, enjoying the sensations he had awakened within me.

"Gradually, my touch would become firmer, a massage, a gentle kneading." His breathing, too, was more labored now, and his speech sped up.

I spread my legs slightly, not knowing or caring what was revealed. He knelt on the floor in front of me, still staring into my eyes.

"I would not linger there long, however. With so many of your treasures yet to explore, I would regretfully move on. My hands would slide up your sides, my thumbs slipping across your stomach and up your ribs. Finally, I would reach your breasts, and gently massage them, working slowly from the outer edges to your erect nipples. I would continue rubbing your nipples, while I was removed my lips from yours, and kissed my way to your breast. As I did with my hands, I would trace my lips from the edge of one breast, nuzzling my way to the nipple, while working its companion with my hand."

The fire had become an inferno, blazing out of control. I spread my legs a little wider, and gently rocked my hips back and forth and side to side. The motion provided some stimulus to my aching sex, as did the soft flannel against my rock-hard nipples, but it was not enough. Somehow, I resisted the overwhelming urge to touch myself, and the even more powerful urge to attack him.

His breathing was harder now, and faster. His voice dropped to a throaty whisper, as he went on with the fantasy. "Again," he said, "I would not linger, but soon would start kissing my way down your belly, until I reached your vulva. I would give it a quick kiss, then continue my advance, kissing and licking down one thigh, then back up. Another quick kiss on your outer lips, and then down and up the other thigh."

My "outer lips" were getting wetter by the second, and every time he mentioned giving them a "quick kiss" a shiver ran though by body. This was the most arousing foreplay I'd every experienced, and he hadn't even touched me!

"As I reached the top this time," he went on, "I would offer your sex the attention it so desperately deserves."

I tingled in anticipation of what was to come, knowing they were just words, but that I would feel them as intensely as if they had a physical presence.

"I would kiss and lick around your lips, gently tasting just inside. Slowly, my tongue would grow bolder probing its full length into your depths. My fingers and lips would come to its aid, rubbing, licking, sucking, nibbling you to a screaming, earth-shattering orgasm."

The most powerful shiver yet coursed through my body. Not quite an orgasm, but as close as you can get. Call it a "neargasm."

It took me a moment to recover. Even after the internal trembles settled down somewhat, the inferno remained. I opened my eyes. He was still kneeling, his eyes lock onto mine, waiting for me to speak.

"No," I said.

"No?" he asked, concerned, disappointed.

"No," I repeated. "Some other time. Right now, I can't wait. I need to go right from the kiss to the screaming orgasm."

He let out a relieved sigh. "Me, too," he said, standing.

As he rose, I captured him with my legs, pulling him on top of me. Our mouths crashed together for that time-stopping kiss, and we squirmed into a prone position on the couch, he atop me. My legs were still wrapped around him, and I used them to pull my crotch tight against his. I squirmed and wiggled, rubbing myself against the erection inside his pants. I didn't think it possible, but his kiss, his soft, warm lips and hot, gently probing tongue, made me even hotter.

I pushed him away, and tore at the buttons of his shirt. A few popped off, but neither of us cared. He struggled with his belt, and I unwrapped my legs to make it easier. He stood, and yanked off the rest of his clothes, while I shrugged off my robe (I like to be *naked* when I make love, at least in private). As soon as he was nude, I again captured him with my legs, and guided him into me. He resisted, trying to enter slowly, but I would have none of it. I prodded him with my heels, and he relented.

"Hard and fast," I said. "I need to come."

Apparently, he needed to come as badly as I did. He slammed into me as hard as he could, then quickly pulled out and slammed back in. In, out, in, out as fast as he could go. My orgasm started on the first stroke, and built quickly. By the third stroke I could no longer count, and had reached an orgasmic peak higher than any I had ever known. He kept pumping, and I soared even higher. I remained there forever (unlike kisses, orgasms really *can* make time stand still), until he shuddered with his own climax, and collapsed on top of me.

We lay still for several minutes, gently descending back to the world.

"OK, now," I said, when it was time to break the silence.

"Now?" he asked, confused.

"Now," I repeated. "All the stuff you said before, from the kiss to the screaming orgasm. Do it now. Only I don't scream when I come; I just sort of gurgle."

"So I noticed," he replied. "Well, then, I think I can make the change from `screaming' to `gurgling'..."

He kissed me again, and this time, time really *did* stand still. Maybe it was an after-effect of the orgasm.

He did make the change, by the way. From "screaming" to "gurgling," that is. Quite nicely, too. Though I almost *did* scream that time. And many times thereafter. It was a delightfully long night.