Melody Dean

Electricity. I use that word a lot to describe that surge that goes through my body. It starts as a tingle from that point of contact, and like the branches of lightning, spreads through the rest of my body.

But it doesn't always spread quickly and with a crack of thunder. Sometimes it's just the low rumble of thunder deep in the clouds, the type that's comforting, that rolls in with a gentle summer storm at night as you drift to sleep. Instead of that hit of electricity that dissipates just as quickly as it came, it's the drop of water in the pond that causes ripples that turns into waves. The waves don't always have to crash to shore, sometimes just rolling in gently is just as satisfying.

It all starts with a touch. Fingertips to skin, lips on lips, no matter where, there's a point of contact. That point seems to be changed forever. I can close my eyes and still feel his kiss, the softness of his lips, my hands in his hair, his hands on my skin. All the energy in my body condenses to that spot, the front of my lips, where his touched mine.

Without consciously thinking about it, I roll my tongue around in my mouth, and I remember the way he tasted. And in that moment, I yearn for it. Not for the sex, not for his skin, not even for his touch, just simply for that look in his eyes and his kiss.

That warmth, that slow rippling electricity, that feeling of fullness in my soul, travels from my lips and over my body, from deep inside, out to my skin. It lands in several spots: down to my toes, along my back where his fingers skipped over my skin, my nipples harden under his phantom licks, to my pussy tightening and releasing under it's own accord.

The orgasm surprises me in a slow creeping way. I relax, my breath deepens, and I enjoy the ride and the memory. I touch nothing, in fact, I cease to exist entirely. I am nothing but a ball of light, getting all of my energy from the memory of his lips.

When I'm restored to a corporeal form, I'm afraid to open my eyes. In my mind, I'm remembering the look in his eyes, that deepness in them, and perhaps the reflection of my own light. Instead, I squint at the florescent lights of my office. When the phone rings, I'm brought back to reality entirely, and I shake off the memory before answering.