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she was already asleep when he got there. using the key she gave him, _____ carefully opened the front door and quietly let himself in. she vaguely heard the sound of the key turning in the lock, but was too immersed in her dreams to fully awaken.

_____ entered the room as quietly as he entered her front door, and was greeted by the sight of her on her side, her cheek pillowed on her hand, and an arm and a leg thrown over a large pillow. she was wearing nothing but her knickers on, and the slight dip where her waist met her hips beckoned to him.

carefully positioning himself on the bed, he placed a soft, lingering kiss on her shoulder. in response, she instinctively turned to him in her sleep, and lay on her back with her lips slightly parted. he leaned in for a kiss. light at first, soft as a feather. she stirred, and he kept on kissing her. still soft. still light. gently, he made love to her lips with his own.

little by little, she awakened, the pleasure of his lips on her own calling her from her dreams. she responded softly, gently, drowsily. seeing that she was returning to consciousness, he increased the pressure of his lips against her own, steadily becoming more impassioned as he drank from her lips endlessly.

after what seemed an eternity of his kisses, she felt him move away from her lips and on to the secret spot on her neck. his kisses were again soft and light, and yet they ignited a slow fire in her veins. as he kissed her there, he started trailing a finger from her neck, to her collarbone, to the valley between her breasts, past her belly, past her mound, and on to her still-closed nether lips. he thought he could detect a moistness between them, but he did not part them. not yet.

he trailed kisses following the path his finger took, lingering for a while at each of her breasts. he took the time to lavish affection on them--suckling them like a hungry babe, leaving each peak standing at attention, wanting more. even as he did so, his finger continued its teasing.

suddenly, without notice, he parted her nether lips, and plunged that same finger into her. "aaah," he thought. she was as wet and as hot as he assumed she was. he then proceeded to caress her with his now-wet finger, sending shivers down her spine.

on, and on his caresses went. on an on until he knew that she yearned to feel his bare skin on hers. he broke away from her then, with her helping him out of his clothes urgently, efficiently; after which he resumed his assault on her senses.

soon enough, his lips started roaming closer and closer to where his all-too-wet finger was wreaking havoc on her insides. she gasped when she felt the first flick of his tongue, playfully, insistently, mercilessly bringing her closer and closer to the brink until she was writhing, both her hands fisted in his hair, all but begging her to take him. she did not ask, but he heard her just the same. once again he broke away from her, and rammed himself into her, as he knew she wanted him to.

her eyes flew open, and she gasped once again, as she spasmed around him. he grinned, waiting for the waves of pleasure to subside before he started pumping. he ravaged her, her whimpers and her moans pushing him to the edge. on and on it went, until she was all but screaming in bliss. she started to spasm around him yet again. he allowed himself to finally go over the edge, coming inside her as he felt her orgasm come in waves.

it was this dream that awakened me this morning. a dream that felt so erotic, so real, that when i finally opened my eyes, i could still feel the tremors going through my body. GOD, IT FELT SO GOOD.

my answer, _____ (if you remember the question you asked before i fell asleep), is yes.

umiiral na naman ang pagka-melancholic ko...

i caught "the age of innocence" on hbo a while ago, and i was deeply affected by the strength of emotions and unrequited love between mr. archer and countess olenska's characters (played by daniel day lewis and michelle pfeiffer).

*sigh*

i don't think i've ever felt for anyone the way those two felt for each other... the depth of longing expressed in kissing someone's wrist, in a look, in the brief clasping of hands... i love my husband dearly, and i know he loves me as much, if not more (if truth be told he loves me more than i do him), but there has never been, nor will there ever be that kind of passion between us.

i yearn to be wanted like that.

i was gifted with a dildo sometime before my wedding. it was nothing fancy, just  7" or so of a pointed cylinder that bore little resemblance to the actual thing. the only merit it had was that it vibrated. 

however, new to the realm of sex, as well the idea of pleasuring myself, that dildo was stashed away in some far corner of my bureau. even as my sexual frustration with the hubby grew, i rarely resorted to taking it out of its secret hiding place. i instead chose to bear the frustration in silence.

only when the frustration threatened to make me go up in flames did i really explore trying to get there on my own. i was most successful in the tub, with the jacuzzi on high, and a certain nozzle strategically placed, that my body learned to buck and writhe in the true release that only an orgasm can bring. not that i was always successful though. but boy, when i was, i would always be weak-kneed and lethargic afterwards. i'd stretch in the tub like a languid cat, and just lie there, a melted puddle of jello.

in the past few months though, i have gotten there more frequently, sometimes through the use of the toy, others just by my own hands. just last night, as i was alternating finishing one of my projects and catching up on my tabulas reading, i suddenly got the urge to be frisky. so, out came the toy, and i eventually got there yet again. in fact, i got there twice.

i think i'm losing my voice.

either that, or i've suddenly run out of things to say. my step falters, and so it comes to this...

what follows is something someone sent me some time ago. for some reason, it strikes a chord today...

WORDS LIKE SPILLED MILK
author unknown

This is for all those
who left it to chance:
well-meant words
struggling in between
the lines,
letters unreplied to
dangling over bridges
unrepaired

This is for all those
who left it to hope:
well-kept elegies
amidst all the
unhappy endings
in the anthology of sorrow.

This is for the burden
of acceptance
they have to make:
that they have to take things
as they are.
Some words are lost
to chance,
some words are remembered
against one's will

This is for you and me
listening to an old song
we loved.

And this is for the old life
and the new one
coming round the bend.

This is for tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow
and all the things
we take with us
to the end.

i don't know if i need you. but ooh, i would die to find out.