Treasure Trove.
By: Ngang God'Swill N.
Tags: Sex, Fiction, Love, Romance, Dreams

Treasure Trove.

The taste of one’s wildest dreams.

The night dove deeper into it’s unfolding but sleep escaped my eyes as though called away by a lover’s gaze. And there I was, drained of energy but unable to rest, so my mind travelled far and beyond; into my golden trove sealed away for days as this, when it’s too hard to rest.

Memories of you flooded my mind like a dam set free, drowning me in passion and memories of orgasms that threatened to fracture my mind. Your slim ebony masterpiece of a body gliding over my throbbing shaft was my first memory of what it felt like, to taste of one's wildest dreams.

I had longed for you through the years, lacking all I needed to have you. You were to me, the embodiment of perfection. Your beauty was the talk of many a man, and its allure was more than many could resist; I couldn't. I guess I was less resistant than most, for even as I key in these letters, I'm yet to break free of your beauty's enchantment.

Your full lips tasted like fresh fruit, succulent and sweet; when first we kissed. I was trapped in disbelief, yet frenzied in my excitement and drunk on the hormone overflow. When they danced again, our lips, my hands took on a charge of their own, charting the curves of your luscious body. Across the beauty of your face, lingering in gentle discuss with your neck, then down the smooth fall of your back to rest on your perfectly rounded ass. And even as they squeezed and spanked, nothing they did could get me enough of you.

It was year's end, but your hair had the sweet fragrance of a newly blossomed flower plucked in August, dancing across my face as our lips' tango grew more vigorous. Your gasps of pleasure in response to my touch sounded like symphonies of sexual perfection; further dressing us in Adam's suit with every passing second. I hoped we would never stop, but I bore the hickeys for days, in testament to my first definition of a wild evening.

And as the days grew to weeks then months, and cuddles to saddles, I completed a mental map of all that your body was. Mastering the path to the hose that watered your ploughing field and the G-spot that made a fountain of you. I studied to master you, but most importantly to do more and more for you. You were the one wish I made every year, and as I now know, wishes do come true. I still feel your touch years down the line, and I apologize for not being enough for you.

You taught me to take on my challenges and fear of ridicule as you gently eased me into you; void of control or experience. The slow rocking of your thighs on the cowgirl ride filled me with sensations that fueled a madness for which I sought no recovery; even as the missionary and quick-paced doggy came for an experience of their own. You felt like a mushy and warm embrace, that lasted not nearly long enough; but growing ever tighter till the cream came to crown.

Since then, it's been different weapons gnawing at my heart, cracking other areas and breaking off pieces with time. There was Ojong the missionary guide, coupled with lies littered across our journey. And even as I buried my head in your breasts every evening, sharing with babies yet to be, I still hear Ekema's roaring release that brought me rushing into a sweaty embrace, with chuckles and kisses you never rained on me.

I was constantly putting pieces of my heart in their once perfect shape, till I got a cord to hold them together - the good times.

And as our boats sailed towards new and different horizons, the laughter and adventures, kisses and orgasms grew into titanium cords that held my heart in one piece. Bruised, cracked and shattered, but full.

I choose to hold pleasant memories of time passed even as I incessantly spill broken heart’s nectar. Memories with you and within, the taste and course of our couples' ambrosia, the sparkle in your brown eyes buried in your smile, and the chaos in your face when it's time for the spring to come forth. I choose to remember by the gate, the birth of this journey of endless discoveries and adventures. I dare to hold on to the promises we whispered in quiet places and sealed by numerous hickeys; for I am certain that to every desert, there is an oasis, and that two paired souls always find their way home to each other; as you did so many times ago, answering to the call of the wild.

And when at last my boat was docked and the sandy beaches had welcomed me pleasantly (brown, curvy and wet all day long), I noticed your ride docked yonder. And every morning just as I let the wonders of the beach flood my mind with pleasure before the greedy tourists came crashing in, I see you leaning against your cabin built of fine in-land ebony. I knew you saw me too, and that you read the dissatisfaction docking had lavished on me.

Alas, the golden trove must return to hiding for the morning comes with duties that demand more than turning a valve or setting free a spring. But as I turn to shoot another attempt at sleep, I hear a knock at the pane; three taps as in the days of our teens. One to rouse, the other to invite and the last to direct; and I never once forgot our cartology.

So away from the sturdiness of your ebony cabin, and the brown, wet and curvy coats line, I set out to join you in uncharted woods; for a party for two.

Clad in Adam's chiselled suit as you, we could mint treasure for our golden troves, or build a castle; forever to call home.

© Ngang God'swill N. 2020