It was early evening. The air was warm. You were sleeping lightly on top of the cool cotton sheets as I slipped in through your window.

Your nightgown had worked its way up to your hips. Your legs were slightly spread, one knee pulled up a little higher than the other. Through the filtered light of dusk I could see your mound peeking out from under the hem. I could just make out its narrow slit hiding beneath a silky patch of closely trimmed brown hair.

The sight of you caused me to throb with desire. I stood silently watching you for more than seven minutes, imagining what it would be like to make love to you. We had never been together. I trembled at the thought of you waking up and discovering me there standing over you, rubbing myself through my jeans.

You twisted your hips slightly, giving me an even better view. That was more than I could stand. I had to taste you. I eased myself onto the foot of the queen-size bed and lay down beside you, my face near your thigh. Breathing deeply, I took in the freshness of you. Gently, so as not to wake you, I went up onto my hands and knees, my body over your legs, my head at your hips. I pressed myself down and gently kissed you. A light, almost undetectable brush of my lips against the soft white flesh of your inner thigh. Your aroma urged me on.

Almost fearfully, I continued. Slowly, ever so gently, I began to work my tongue through the short, fine hair that protected the object of my desire. When my tongue touched your outer lips you gave the first reaction to my presence. As your knees rose slightly your thighs opened to me a bit more and I sank between them.

Now, with no further obstruction to my goal, I eased my tongue between your lips. In and up it went until it reached your hooded clit. Your taste was all that I knew it would be and more. Sweet, but with a hint of saltiness, like honey and tropical rain.

Unable to maintain this agonizingly slow approach, I flicked my tongue quickly across your clitoris three times. You gave an involuntary lurch, pressing your sex full into my face. I began a slow, deliberate circling motion. Your reaction was obvious. With a quiet moan, almost a whimper, you began to move your hips in time with my tongue. As your movements grew stronger, so did my licking. Faster and deeper, we moved together. Relentlessly building. With no thought of ceasing, I continued to stoke your fire. Your hips bucked and swayed, but my tongue kept riding your clit like a determined cowboy on a wild mare.

You began to cry out. Your legs clamped around my head like a vise as you jammed yourself into my mouth. Bucking up and down five? six? no, seven times as you found your release.

Then you relaxed, your thighs once again soft and pliable. Your breaths were deep and satisfied. Then, to my surprise, I felt you reach down and gently stroke my hair. I heard a soft “Thank you.”

Realizing that you had been awake the entire time, I was shocked and embarrassed. I sprang up and out of the open window, heading for a nearby patch of woods. When I got there I stopped and sat beneath a large oak tree. In the gloom of the failing light I reflected on our experience. I knew that you would not soon forget me, and that you would have a problem when your man came home from work. For you see, my hands were not idle during our time together. When you looked at the sheets you would see two stains, not one.