Insomnia

I can smell the apple fragrance from my freshly washed white sheets. My toes curl into them and I bring the blankets to my nose inhaling deeply. Battling with the apple is the vanilla bathwash I've used before I've slid into bed. My feet freshly scrubbed, moisturised and glistening with blood red polish glimmer in the moonlight. I've rubbed cocoa-butter all over me and the cacophony of scent is subtle and delicate.

Illuminating the room are yellow street-lights from the main road outside. They shine directly over my balcony through the trees creating scary tree-shapes onto my bed and make my bed an interesting hue between orange and moonlight. Also at the foot of my bed is my built-in wardrobe mirror casting mirror image of my timber 4 poster bed back at me. I can see the shadows of the wrought iron art work mirrored back at me. I see smudged mirror and another mental note to clean the mirror tomorrow.

At the foot of my bed, I can see the power light from my dvd and tv sitting tall on my timber drawers. Next to my bed, I can see the iPod docking stereo - the lcd clock intrusive in the peaceful darkness. Tom Waits' gentle but husky voice is whispering sweet words into my ears. I soak them up like an old woman who is hungry for any listening ear buried deeply in her isolation.

1:50 am. I can't sleep. Again.

I can hear the late night traffic and imagine that they're party people heading down the hill into the City. On occasion a big long truck thuds down the hill reverberating through my brain. Damn those exhaust brakes.

Although I prefer to sleep naked, I am cold. Clothes get twisted with my constant turning during the night so they're left in a pile on the floor nightly.

Tom launches into "Alice" and absentmindedly my fingers start to lightly circle my nipples - pinching them gently. I start to daydream about lovers gone by and mentally categorize fucktards into O for Oblivion so they dare not interrupt such intimate daydreaming tomorrow night.

I remember the hot hot sex I've had over the years and wonder if that's it for me aged 35. Done and dusted, I've quivered my last quiver. Is that it?

Through the memories, I remember Michael. As usual. Michael is as regular as the insomnia. Tony Bennett starts with 'The Way you look tonight" and the mood is under the control of my imagination.

27 year old Michael with the perfect cock and perfect 'everything.' My fingers lightly brush against my cunt-lips, every so lightly making me purr gently. I close my eyes and remember his cock sliding ever so gently into my hungry mouth. My lips remain closed but waiting with a pool of desire waiting to moisten my fingers.

The trucks continue to whizz past threatening to interrupt my Michael daydream. The Troggs "With a Girl like You." massages my auditory senses.

In the smallest circles, my three fingers lightly circle the rosebud that brings me peace at night. I press with the right amount of pressure and close my eyes.

I feel the cat jump onto the bed, pawing the blanket for his comfort.

'Sssh, Ace. Go to sleep," I murmer and try to refocus. I have the attention span of a mop. I have to focus. My fingers won't wait and nor will the small but insistent electrical jolts that are warming my cunt and spreading all around my body.

Before long my eyes are closed and I'm miles away from the trucks, the silhouette of the trees and the purring cat by my side. I see him. He's wearing blue and he smells like a factory. He's got a bulge in his pants before his strides reach me on the sofa. His hair is all over the joint and his face looks smudged like he's wiped dirty hands across his forehead.

He strips while he's walking, making loud thuds on my floor-boards. He kicks his steel-cap boots off, balancing precariously on one leg he peels his socks off grinning like a Cheshire cat at the sight before him. I'm laying on my leather sofa one leg casually flipped over the back and the other open - wide - exposing my fingers languishing in the pool of desire he asked to have waiting by 3pm. My hair freshly washed but tangled and unbrushed is like a spider hanging down my shoulders and across my breasts. I return his smile.

His mouth latches on my cunt immediately. His lips form a suction around the clit and he wastes no time in slurping, licking and sucking my clit into throbbing submission. I barely know my name.

Without words, he sits on the sofa legs together but one hand stroking his enormous cock harder for me. His hazel eyes are soft and glazed as he gestures for me to come to him.

I sit astride him guiding his cock into me with no hands and slowly lower the length of his cock into me. It's been awhile since a cock has fucked me and I'm snug. He feels it and groans telling me to take it slowly palms on my ass.

Rising and falling, we kiss passionately, hands all over each other hungry for more.

Back in reality, I hear a noise on the roof and stop rubbing momentarily wondering if it's a possum again running over the skylight in the hallway. The noise leaves as quickly as it came and my fingers recommence the circular rubbing that's making me more and more wet. I think of how much he'd like the soaking cunt on his mouth and the corners of my mouth curl into a sly smile.

Part 2 tomorrow...