![[orchidea reflects]](/storage/marbleorchidea.jpg "[orchidea reflects]")
Wrapped up
We have too many cats in our bedroom, in the chair, on our bed; claiming space and nocturnal attention as a birthright with uninhibited instincts and lithe bodies dreaming, twitching, flexing, snoring.
The matriarch won’t use the cat flap; she’s too dignified. She leaps onto the log pile, from there traverses the rose trellis to the windowsill and paws gracefully over the blinds until one of us awakes (or, more likely than not, tires of pretending not to be awake), gets up and lets her in. Sometimes the youngsters mimic her, badly and clumsily, but we are sleep-drunken and not alert enough to spot the difference and ignore. Last night, one of them roused us both, and he got up and then I got up and it was early dawn and the birdsong was just beginning.
When I returned from the bathroom he was sitting there, naked on the edge of the bed, teasing the boy-cat with his big toe. We said hi and I, high on too many espressos that accompanied the champagne and litres of water, displaced cat No. 2 - not because she was in the way, but because I was feeling territorial and didn’t want onlookers, even feline ones - and folded myself into his lap so we could swap stories. He’d come home late; I’d come home even later. So I sat there curled into his warmth, listening to the dawn chorus, feeling tiny, yielding, soft and delicate. He cupped a breast with one hand and let his other rest, calmly investigative and quite deliciously, between my thighs.
For the first time in weeks, I didn’t think. I just felt. The textures, tastes and scents of skin-on-skin, his breath on my throat, my heartbeat in his palm. It was peace. I didn’t want to unfold.
aag encapsulates it beautifully here. She writes:
“This is where I lose all sense of understanding toward the people who don’t adore sex. Not liking intercourse? Sure, I can see that. Being weirded out by oral? I get it. Not really desiring orgasms? It’s a stretch, but I can grasp that concept.
But who doesn’t love to be pressed against warm naked skin?”
orchidea
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Reader Comments (11)
The house I grew up in had a glass fronted front door, as in a single pane of striped, frosted glass, filling the whole doorframe. It therefore had a letterbox at the bottom of the door, and no place to fix a cat flap.
Our first cat, a black and white moggy of no breeding whatsoever, but posessed of a keen intellect (for a feline) worked out that by inseting a paw through the letter box and rapidly yanking it back out again it would work just like a door knocker. A trick he used to great effect on summer mornings at around 3a.m. after a night on the tiles, to the universal appreciation of our entire cul-de-sac, which had an uncanny echo on still mornings.
Thank you for reminding me of that, and for sharing what sounded like a spledidly languid start to the day. Here's to many more ;-)
He must have been a real character, Dr J. Well-loved by the entire neighbourhood, no doubt. ;-) I wish I could claim our boy-cat had no breeding whatsoever but a keen intellect - unfortunately, he has neither. And thank you for reminding me of a term I haven't used or even thought of in years: cul-de-sac. I grew up in one, too.
The splendidly languid starts to the day; somehow, they only happen in spring and summer. I think the birdsong is an essential component. Not sure why.
o xxx
I often wish I could split wide open like a salmon fillet so I could wrap myself completely around her, so every little bit of my skin could be touching every little bit of her skin.
Her touch is as vital to me as breathing.
Cheers,
sss
Crikey.... ;-)
I'll take that as a compliment then, Greavers. :)
sss - you're lovely, you are. Knowing you, I bet you've told her. She's a lucky woman. :)
(not sure about the split salmon though... yikes!)
Your para 3 is gorgeous, if flawed. So sensuous, so loving, so now. Dewy-eyed. But you're wrong about cats. Can't have too many cats, and cat fur on bare flesh is something else! Prrrrrrr!
Thank you Rob. :) If it's gorgeously flawed, I don't mind. As for the cat fur on bare flesh... it depends on where they've been.
Reading about the pleasures of bare flesh has made me wild for it; alas, bedtime is solely for sleeping for my paramour at the moment.
How do you deal with that? Being so physically close to someone, yet not being allowed to touch them?
I honestly don't know, Rose. I'm always allowed to touch.
Sweet and touching. But that is what you are known for.
(on a side note, I do sometimes refrain from touching, but I am kinda freaky.)
You gorgeous freak, you! Sweet & touching, moi? If you say so. :)