Elusive Sleep by Christina Sleep eludes her. She turns again in her bed, sliding her hand between her legs, hoping that she can find relief from her obsession. She moans aloud as her fingers worry her swollen clitoris, then trace lower, grazing her wet inner lips. Her middle and ring fingers abruptly disappear inside, as the two outer fingers slide over her pouting fleshy lips. She hooks the two fingers inside her sex, bringing the tips against her most sensitive area. Her thumb reaches for her clitoris, flicking, rubbing.… She sighs in frustration, unable to find even solitary comfort tonight. Tonight, of all nights… Her lover is so close, yet so unavailable. They spoke this afternoon, words of promise and desire electric between them. She moves to the edge of the bed, then sits. Her dog, sensing her wakeful state, moves close enough for a rub on the head, then, satisfied, returns to the pallet on the floor. Standing, the woman begins wandering through her small lake cabin. She halts by the multi-paned window, looking again toward the next house. She had stopped by the party next door this evening, casually wishing him well at this crossroads in his career. She had greeted his wife, chatted with his friends, and observed with quiet amusement the attempts of another woman to seduce him; an attempt foiled so promptly and effectively by his wife. As always, she had kept her distance, giving no indication of their involvement—no exchange of glances, not one touch other than a casual hug as they greeted, no stolen moments together. They had long ago perfected this pattern of public interaction, secure in the mutuality of their hunger for each other, yet infinitely respectful of the realities of their daily lives. As the party had neared its end, well beyond dusk, she left the gathering, only to sit outside her own cabin, sipping iced tea. Watching, she had seen some guests leave, while others prepared to stay the night. Finally, the few that remained had finalized their sleeping arrangements. As night blanketed the lake, she had observed his wife going in and out of the neighboring house. Her lover had lain stretched in a hammock. His wife would stop near him, leaning over. She had fantasized it was her own hand, not his wife’s, slipping under his shorts, grazing his thigh—or his familiar cock. She had waited for him to go inside the house to join his wife. As night engulfed her, she had felt the cooler air caress her skin. She had gazed through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, straining to see the occasional glimmer of a star. The moon, about a week into its waning cycle, cast a slight glow over the lake. She had wondered if his delight in the soft summer night matched her own, then, grinning to herself, realized she knew the answer full well. Time had passed—how much, she was unsure. Finally rousing herself from her comfortable chaise lounge, she had cast a final glance toward the hammock next door. Startled, she had seen that the moonlight silhouetted the shape of his wife walking back toward the house. She had watched her lover pull a bench closer to the hammock, setting a glass of some sort on the makeshift nightstand, then settling in with newly acquired pillows and blanket. So near, yet so unavailable. She had shaken her head, tossing her short brown hair, and gone inside her cabin. Now, hours later, she remains wakeful. She paces in her darkened cabin, breathing the heavy night air. She goes to the window, gazing over the lake, then once more across the space separating her from her lover. Physical space, for her a symbol of the requisite space that separates them. She decides to shower, smiling at her paltry attempt to wash away the obsession. She raises her gauzy cotton nightshirt over her head, then places it on the hook on the wall. Having adjusted the water to a gently pulsing flow, she steps into the tub and pulls the heavy curtain closed. Luxuriating in the water cascading over her skin, she tilts her head back, letting the water stream over her hair. She reaches for the chamomile shampoo and massages her head. The warm water slices through to her scalp as she rinses the shampoo out of her hair. Cupping warm water in her hands, she splashes it on her face. She reaches over, finding the goat-milk soap, and brings the bar to her nostrils to inhale its clean scent. Lathering her hands, she spreads the bubbly film over her shoulders, arms, and breasts. She imagines her lover’s hands sliding on her soap-slick skin. Recognizing that this train of thought will hardly help wash away her obsession, she tries to clear her mind of the memory of his touch. She moves her hands off her breasts, letting the spray of the shower remove the soapy film. Lathering again, she starts to wash her abdomen and hips, determined to let her imaginings flow down the drain with the water. Pleased to be partially successful, she moves her soapy hands onto her ass. Here she definitely does not permit herself to linger; though once again, the intrusive images fill her consciousness. Raising her right leg onto the lip of the tub, she stoops slightly to wash it, her fingers sliding between her toes, then across her foot, up the ankle, over the calf, to her thigh. She stops short of her groin, not wanting to risk irritating the delicate tissues between her legs with the scented soap. She repeats with her left leg, then allows the streaming water to rinse her clean. Satisfied that the shower is indeed clearing her obsession, she puts the bar of soap away. She spreads her legs and thrusts her pelvis forward, inviting the cascade of water to pour over her. The gentle pulsing of the water as it strikes her mound awakens the realization that she has not managed to displace the thoughts of her lover, lying alone in the hammock next door. She lets her imaginings take her to lie with him, feeling the fingers pressing on her still swollen tissues as if they were his. Her fingers move among the folds, her hand searching for, and finding, her sensitive clitoris, then her slick-wet opening. Sliding her hand farther back, she transfers the slippery liquid flowing from her slit to also cover her puckered hole. Pressing one finger against the tight ring, she feels the resistance ease, enabling her to push the finger into her ass. She feels her desire mount, but once again she is unable to bring herself to orgasm. Frustration and desire growing, she steps from the shower. She towels off vigorously, the friction of the thick terrycloth causing her pale skin to redden. She runs a comb through her short hair, then lifts it into place with her fingers. The reflection of her upper body in the mirror catches her eye. She sees the glow in her eyes, the flush of her face and neck, the wet hair on her head. She recognizes that she can no longer delay the moment of decisive action. Ignoring her gauzy nightshirt, she slips into a robe made of the palest blue silk, tying the sash loosely about her waist. Her plan now as clear as her lust, she locates her sandals and slips them on. She strides quickly out of her cabin, not allowing herself any opportunity to lose her nerve. The neighboring house comes into view, completely dark, with no sign of movement inside. Her gaze travels to the gently swaying hammock, where the moonlight reflects off the light-colored blanket cloaking her lover. She pauses to inhale the beauty of the night. Her eager steps take her swiftly onto the next property. As she nears her lover, she listens to his breathing, knowing by the slightly irregular pattern that he has not found sleep this night either. She reaches the patio next to him, and steps out of her sandals before going further. Silently she completes the short journey. He turns slightly to her, his open arms indicating his awareness of her presence. She lays a finger across his lips, silencing his greeting. Leaning over his familiar body, she whispers in his ear “I must have you tonight—but we can’t make a sound.” She unties the sash of her robe, allowing her full breasts to fall free. Her nipples stiffen instantly, but she does not long consider whether this is due to her desire, his nearness, or the brush of the cool night air. She pulls the blanket from him, and slides into the hammock by his side. They turn to each other, hungry mouths joining, tongues instantly probing, sparring, retreating, tangling. She feels the roughness of his whiskers on her tender face, tastes the bitterness of the last beer he drank. His hands roam her body, now pulling her close, now playing in her wet hair, now cupping her ass, as his kisses become more insistent. Her hands move along his body, her nails raking his skin as she moves them to his waist. Fingers slip under his shorts and briefs, quickly sliding them downward. The lovers strain not to giggle as they struggle to free his legs from the clothing, their feet slipping into the open spaces of the hammock. She adores how somewhere, no matter how white-hot they glow with passion, there is laughter in their loving. When he is naked at last, she slides her right hand down his stomach, her fingers darting into his navel, then twirling in his pubic hairs. She rolls him further onto his back and repositions her hand so that only her fingertips touch him, circling the skin around his cock and balls. She feels his stomach muscles rippling as she drags her nails in narrowing circles around his erect member. As her hand trails onto his thighs, she smiles at the way he bends his legs and thrusts his pelvis toward her. She moves her mouth onto his neck, nibbling her way from his Adam’s apple across his throat to the hollow she loves. She pauses there to probe with her tongue, as her hand moves to flicker over the skin of his ballsac. Smiling, she notices how the skin contracts at her featherlight touch. She flicks her way to his cock, then allows her fingertips to trail along the path of the largest vein, until she reaches the ridge. Her fingerpads stroke quickly back down to the base. Hearing his breathing quicken, she focuses her efforts on the engorged head. Her fingers slide over it, separating a bit as they move from the tip until they just pass the ridge. She flexes her fingers, allowing her nails to graze his skin as she slides her hand back to the very tip. Pressing with more firmness now, she moves her fingers back down until the tip of his cock strikes her cupped palm. She moans incredibly softly in his ear, nibbling his earlobe, as her hand senses the drops of moisture already present at his tiny opening. Moving her palm against the tip, her extended fingers glide up and down the shaft as far as they can reach. Each time she hears his voice threaten to rise, she moves her mouth against his to remind him of the need for silent pleasure. She moves her body on top of her lover’s, her hands gripping his shoulders. The hammock sways a bit more as they move against each other. The air strikes her back, her silk robe providing no protection. She shivers a little, her movement causing him to draw her closer, his hands moving beneath her robe. Mouths joined, she straddles his body with hers, her knees sinking into the hammock. She slides her pouting lips over his excited shaft, spreading her moisture along his length. Feeling him press against her entrance, she adjusts her position to accommodate him. He suddenly thrusts into her hungry cunt, the swollen walls clenching him as he penetrates her. The hammock moves more violently as their motion intensifies. The lovers have difficulty maintaining silence. Ordinarily so vocal, she remains intent on satisfying her passion without risking detection. Burying her mouth on his, he muffles the sounds that threaten to escape her throat. She moves harder on him, sucking his tongue into her mouth and teasing it, even as her powerful internal muscles squeeze his cock inside her. She feels his hands digging into her ass, and realizes how her nails threaten to pierce the skin of his shoulders. She moves her hands so as to leave no trace of their union. Her passion demands release. She moves her mouth to his ear, long enough to say quite softly, yet distinctly, “Fuck me. FUCK ME.” Her words have the desired effect as he raises his hips and pounds into her. She moves harder, faster on him, meeting his thrusts, their movements perfectly synchronized. She tries to swallow the groan she hears rising from deep inside her as his cock slams into her, throbbing and swelling against her walls, then striking her cervix. She feels herself driven over the edge by this last sensation, her muscles contracting repeatedly as she grinds her clit against his pubes, increasing the intensity of her climax. He matches the ferocity of her orgasm by spewing his cum inside her, spurt after hot spurt filling her. She milks his cock with her muscles as he drives into her, wanting every drop of his seed inside her. His final spurts wrest a series of smaller contractions from her. She collapses on top of her lover, spent. She feels their mingled juices flow from her as he eases from inside her. Moving her mouth near his once more, she lets her lips brush his. She outlines his lips with her tongue. Sliding off him, she nestles in the crook of his arm. Their perceptions of the world seem heightened. His fingers brush her skin, generating a tingle that lingers long after his hand moves on. As their breath comes more slowly and easily, they become aware of the night sounds around them. Satiated, they lie together, silently listening—crickets, the gentle sound of the water lapping at the shore of the lake, an owl. Inhaling deeply, the smells of the lake, the trees, the residual odors from the evening’s barbecue, and the scents of their bodies mingle. Pale moonlight gleams across the lake. The canopy of trees, a mixture of tall Southern pines and slender beeches, is a bit less dense here than on her property. Stars glimmer. As they watch, a single shooting star traces a bright path across the visible portion of the sky. They lie together like this for some time, the night holding them captive to its magic. Except for the occasional kiss, stroke, or sigh, they remain motionless, silent. All too soon, the first blush of dawn creeps into the sky, suffusing it with a purple-pink glow. As the light changes hue, the pink claims victory. She knows it is time to return to her cabin. Turning to her lover one more time, she holds the angle of his jaw in her hand and brings her lips to his. They exchange a kiss filled with both passion and promise. She rises from the hammock, her hand trailing over his arm. Silk robe sashed, white sandals replaced….she moves silently back toward her cabin. She enters her private space. In the kitchen, she boils water, then steeps a cup of mint tea. Sipping, she walks into her bedroom, so recently the site of her frustration, now transformed into a place of fulfillment. She bends to stroke the head of her sweet dog. She sits once more on the edge of her bed, finishing her tea, then sets the cup and saucer aside. Removing her robe, she slips into her bed, reveling in the smoothness of the sheets, the scent of her lover on her skin. She stretches, turning again in her bed. Sleep cradles her.