Altogether unusual

The proper way

'Making love to me is amazing. Wait, I meant: making love, to me, is amazing. The absence of two little commas nearly transformed me into a sex god.'

Dark Jar Tin Zoo

I enter the house like a thief. I knocked on the door, but since no one answered, I just tried my luck. The door was unlocked. I should announce my presence now. I should, but I don't. I cannot bring myself to speak up. Instead, I start climbing the stairs when I hear giggles. Two voices. Laughing together. I am a shadow. If I wanted to make my presence known before, now I only want to pass unnoticed. I need to see with my own two eyes what happens in there. I suspect what it is, but I don't want to believe it. It cannot be. The sounds seem to come from the first room on the right, very near the staircase. So I just crouch down after I reach the last step and take a peek inside, through the half open door. It's dark inside, as it is in the entire house. The lights on the street, however, allow me to see what's going on inside. A little more than dark shadows. A smile here and a gesture there. The rest I can just sense. The room is oozing quiet whispers, touching, all-consuming hunger. I can almost hear the heat of their bodies on my face. He holds her in his arms, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, and her little nose. She is all smiles, surrendered to him completely. They probably took a shower, as they are both wrapped in big, white towels. He whispers something in her ear and she just melts in his arms even more. Her head arrives only by his chest, so he has to tower over to be able to kiss her. He looks very protective of her. The way he has her gathered in his arms, almost creating a live wall between her and the outside world. The way he kisses her, barely touching her white skin, like she is the finest china. He bends at the knees a little and puts an arm around her, lifting her up against him, his other hand in her hair, and he walks towards the bed. She turns her head to look behind when the bed touches the back of her legs. He takes advantage of that and starts kissing and nipping at her exposed neck. I hear her breath, hitched in her throat. She gives him space by leaning her head on his shoulder, her hand traveling up and down on the bare skin of his back. I see his hands removing her towel and throwing it away. They stand like that for a few moments. He looks at her mesmerized, she looks down, at her feet, like she's ashamed or something. His fingers gently lock under her chin and push her head upwards, to make her look him in the eyes. "You are beautiful", I hear him say. And I must agree with him. In the dim light, her white skin almost shines. I can see clearly her tattoos. Some sort of a text, a poem maybe, written on the expense of her ribs, on her right side, one image on the upper arm, near the shoulder, one on her shoulder blade, one, like a sun radiating from the middle of her back, one right above the hip line. Her long, black, curly locks hide the one I know she has behind her ear. It is the smallest black quill poised to write, and a letter. It always seemed something medieval and I never asked what it stands for. As if Jonathan were reading my mind, he pushes thru her heavy hair and kisses the quill. I see how she shivers at his touch. They sit on the bed, Jonathan on top of her. He is still wearing the towel. Clarisse looks very lost all of the sudden, just lying there, watching him thoroughly. Like they don't even need words. He sees her hesitation too, probably, because he starts kissing her. Like really kissing her, biting her lower lip, smoothly pushing his tongue into her mouth. She seems to totally agree with him. His lips, so voluptuous and lush, cover her small mouth. I always thought she looks like a china doll – incredibly white skin, thick, shiny hair...her hair is artistic, for lack of a better word. I never saw anything like it. Black as black, so much so that it seems dyed. Maybe it is and she doesn't recognize it. Besides that, she has these curls, not too small, not to loose, like black wavy waters. Her face is.....I think dull is the correct word.....to say it nicely. Scary beyond all reason would be a better fit. Her eyes are big, blue, like lagoons blue, when the water is shallower. Her eyes hide heavy white sands underneath. With those orbs she belongs in scary movies. Then her face is heart shaped almost, with defined, long, dark eyebrows and eyelashes. Small nose. The mouth is what strikes you, because it is small and very plump, like a red rose opening its petals. Taken apart, her features sound like stolen from different people. Put together they create a very strange doll face. Not ugly, not cute, but....dull. "I want to hear everything. I want to hear how you feel me." Jonathan's deep, rich voice startles me out of my reverie. His face is in between her breasts now, his hands on either side of them, pushing them together. He is kissing and sucking on them. I can clearly see his tongue outlining the swell of them. He's determined, like on a quest to know her body piece by piece. After lingering for a while around her navel, I hear him again: "Did you hear me Clarisse? I want to hear you. Stop biting your lips and let it out. I need to hear you." She nods almost imperceptibly, never leaving his eyes. He gives her a big grin, like he is particularly satisfied with himself, and his face disappears between her thighs. She almost squeaks, her eyes big, watching the ceiling. Then she steadies herself, grabs handfuls of the bed sheet and closes her eyes. I cannot really make out what he's doing in there. Not that is very hard to guess. Over the silence in the room, Clarisse is louder by the second. He must be doing the right thing there. She breathes heavier and heavier, her round breasts raising and falling showing me how shallow her breath really is. Little sounds come out of her, like she is happy and amazed altogether. Jonathan lifts her legs, bending them at the knee. That definitely does something to her because she moans and her head digs in the mattress now. You'd think I feel guilty for witnessing this entire show, but I'm actually a little pissed I cannot see what he's doing. Like, exactly what he's doing. If a bloke truly cares about a woman, he behaves differently. He works on it. He wants her to feel good. As on queue, Jonathan takes his left hand between her legs. Her back arches and her hips move in the rhythm his hand sets. In seconds she cries out and remains arched, taking it all. And he rides her orgasm out. As he lies on top of her again, she caresses his temple, swiping the hair off his forehead in such an intimate and deeply meaningful gesture that it almost hurts to watch. "Good girl! You are amazing." I hear him say before he kisses her passionately. Maybe I had enough. Maybe I should go now. I've got what I came for anyway. I know this. I should get out of here and never think about it again. But I cannot. I cannot move. I keep watching, like I am glued to the spot. I watch him holding himself above her. I see how he leans on one forearm as he grabs her leg again, at the back of her knee, gently, like she can be broken. He pushes her leg towards her chest and stays like that for what seems a lifetime. "Are you ok, Clarisse?" She looks at him, mouth a little agape. She nods finally and he eases himself in her, still looking into her eyes. When he is all in, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He seems to be worshiping something. Bowing in veneration in front of something. Or someone. Her? Really? When did this happen? Maybe while I was trying to convince myself that I do matter. "Clarisse?" I look towards her when he calls out for her. Her eyes are closed again, her lower lip bitten between her teeth. "Clarisse, please don't hold back. I need to know you are alright, that you enjoy this too. If you continue to control yourself, I'll stop whatever I'm doing." She doesn't answer. She just nods. She is probably mute. She never replied back, not once. Like she's scared, or amazed, or...new to this. Really? Virgin? No way. It cannot be. Not a woman like that.

He starts to move. Slowly. He's like the waves, coming and going in a continuous flow. I can see he's not taking his own advice though, because he's holding back. Big time. He's all tensed. Skin covering bulged muscles. Sweat covering skin. He's holding her leg, keeping his rhythm steady. Her head moves slowly from one side to the other, her hands touching whatever she can - arms, shoulders, chest, face. She finally reaches his curled hair and grabs onto it. A loud moan escapes her, but she bits it down immediately. Jonathan stops. Well, he wasn't joking.

Her eyes shoot open, confused. "I cannot do this Clarisse. Not if I don't know you really like it. I told you. There is nothing wrong between two people who make love, as long as they both like it. I need to know you do like it. At all times."

"Ok" I hear her say.

"Tell me what to do, Clarisse!" I see her pouting just a little, like she doesn't like what he said. Like she's prepared to keep quiet, just to spite him. But he moves inside her once, and then steadies.

Her back arches again, her hands pull on his hair. "Oh God! That. Do that again..." Jonathan grins, satisfied. He pushes against her again and stops, looking at her. "Again." She says, with a small smile on her lips. I can hear her throaty moans now, louder and louder as he moves faster. "Please. Don't. Stop." She's enjoying it alright. So much so that he's barely holding on. He makes some low, growl noises, from deep inside his chest. "Ride the wave, love!" And she does. She comes loudly, shaking against him, her guttural noises mixing with his more animal-like ones. He falls on her, gathering her body in his arms.

I'm spent. I quietly leavethe house.