They Fell in Love (Adult)

In the early morning muse that sets their tones ablaze…

They fall in love.

Lovers fall in love in the way their body surrenders, in the way their eyes meet, in the way the throb resonates with all around them. They grasp at nothing as they hold on to everything, and they dance to a rhythm created when he enters her, when she surrounds his Being.

They fall in love in the way his mind rises to her occasion, in the way her’s embraces his passion. The make love in their words as subtle tones mesh with overt attention, in the way their thoughts ooze from loving depths to bubble at the surface of their spring. It’s as if the mind has fingers that caress the naked truth, creating bumps as testaments to something only lovers know. Lovers know nakedness, they know vulnerability, and they know each other through the throbbing gauge of their courageous desire.

Oh, that throb. We all know it. We know it in the strong hand that is pulling at her hair, in the soft touch that is guiding him in. We feel it in the screams of ecstasy when he hits that spot, in the groans of his passion as her tongue holds firm at the place he loves the most.

It’s in that throb that they love, and it is in their love that the pulsing begins. No mortal man has ever known the heaven that true lovers know. Only gods and goddesses alike can visit those spaces where fucking becomes love and love becomes fucking. Only the brave can let go enough to allow entrance through those gates, and only worthy warriors need arrive to the place where lovers play and life begins anew.

You may have been there before. If not, tread lightly there, for you will never be the same again. It’s not for the feeble, or the faint-of-heart. It’s not for those children who play well at being adult, or for the hills who play mountain in the theater of this life.

One must have known suffering, anguish, and true despair to really know this place. One must know these things if only to realize the value in letting go of them. In the vacuum of suffering’s escape comes Love, and in the departure of physical servitude comes the passion we all were born with, but have forgotten. In the presence of truth the lies will flee, and in the presence of courage fear knows itself as a true friend to Love. Upon this altar you will worship your wounds, and in this church you will caress the scars of your lover. Those scars will lead you to her promised land, and there you will dwell in the oasis left plush by rivers of love invading spaces rendered bare by retreating fear and pain.

It is there his mouth with have her screaming prayers of pure delight while her hands grasp at the relics of a life well lived. Her mind will know true focus as he takes her to his sanctuary, his tongue issuing silent mantras of his Love. The Lovers’ minds will meet at her holy place, and their skin will melt together as two hearts beat one true testament to Nature’s pure design.

Her mouth will take him in, and his manhood will jump for joy. She will take him to heights of holy pleasure, and he will surrender to the prayers she issues in her muffled moans. There, nothing exists but the two of them, and nothing diverts their focus from the present. The two are there, as One, where nothing else can be.

He will enter her, and she will be filled. Her gasps will guide his thrusts deep and hard within her, and her fingers will paint loving marks upon his back. Her legs will grasp at him, her insides will tighten around him as his pulsing sword demands more of her, and takes her just the same. There will be no silence here, only the limitless banter of two souls swirling into one, climaxing as the creation of life itself abounds in the art of making love.

Even in the passion of orgasm there is that throb, reminding them of who they are as they lay silently intertwined. Making love never ends, it simply transforms on the lover’s stage. They make love in a glance, in a touch, in the words they choose to grace each other with. Even their battles are of pure and holy sex. They know the places where their tongues should travel, and the spots they must never leave forgotten in their trance.

It was there they fell in love, each and every time.

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