I...really like foreplay.
It's like body poetry. Free verse. None of that rhythmic, rhyming, sex bullshit, but sheer creative free form.
Who cares about positions? There's no art in memorizing the kama sutra, no sir.
Let your fingers do the walking.
It's a time for toys.
A more prideful man might liken her to an instrument beneath his fingers, but this is a time for sharing, and instruments are a one way proposition.
She's my love, my joy, the object of my effort, the reason for my expression. Our sharing, our desire, becomes the utmost of our expression, and our willingness to restrict (hah!) this to mere touch
Rather than the ever present standby
Is yet one more intimation...
I will wait for you. You are worth the time, the trouble,
The blue Bawls
That I must suffer. *grin*
For your pleasure is mine, your smile my glory, your cries my expression. Thank you so much for allowing me this dalliance, this friendship, this depth.