I wanted to write to you, and draw you a snapshot of something in my mind.

We've had so many conversations over the last three months, and I agree that sometimes it feels like we've known each other forever, and sometimes it feels like it's brand new, but I appreciate and enjoy it all.

I want to give you all of my attention, to show you how fascinating and beautiful a person you are. People aren't the outer shell alone, they're everything they've ever experienced, everything they've triumphed through and they're everything they think and feel too. You mightn't like the sound of your own voice, but Christ does it do things to me. Warm things. Intimate things.

Occupying the same space, listening to you talk about your work, your fitness routine, your culinary adventures. Little quaint interjections about how that relates to some philosophy I read from some guy with a really difficult name [that I butcher the pronunciation of unashamedly]. Brief mentions of events in life that helped me slowly realise how I got to this point. The words "I like you" aren't adequate, but they'll suffice. Not long aferwards, the words "I want you" are clear.

Fingers touch arms. Slightly calloused hands that have that underlying softness to them, gently explore but a fraction of the world I want to understand so intimately. While the fingers and palm cup underneath one side of your face, a thumb gently brushes your cheek, and in that moment I'm compelled to kiss your lips. I don't want to do this. Hold on, I'm not finished. I don't want to do this once; I want to discover you again and again. I'm surprisingly clear when I express myself: "I want to take every slow step on the way to heaven."

There's no hurry when you want to savour someone this much, and every soft press of lips against your neck is another indication of my desire. One strap slid aside, and the one underneath it also, revealing a full, supple breast and my warm mouth meets it. I know there's a deep longing that builds inside, whenever that touch is engaged. One mouth, two lips, one tongue, two nipples. A sense of heat and a heartbeat well above fourty sets off a miniature frenzy, the same hand that caressed your cheek now finding a home along the lips of a slick wetness.

Shins are. Calves are. The insides of the knees are. The lower thighs, the inner thighs and beyond. They all are steps to heaven, and I'll deliberately forget them just so I can be reacquainted every time. Whether your name is Kate or you're Scantilly clad, the cotton pushes against you with the smooth but consistent pressure of my lips. Every breath can be felt through the fabric as I whisper again that I want you. The underwear parts ways with your labia after clinging on to that wetness with one last effort. There's something glorious about having someone this close, being this vulnerable and knowing, genuinely knowing that all they want in the world is your pleasure in theirs.

I don't want to be anywhere else. The thumb and finger of one hand gently massages the length of your front commissure, and I don't know if you've ever felt this before, but when I want someone this much, I'll purse my lips around each outer labia and kiss them in turn like it's your mouth. Between kisses, a smooth, searching tongue sketches a line along the entire path of kisses to come. Tiny little licks along your inner labia punctuate each hot breath. I want you to imagine this because I'm going to give this to you.

I want to take my time, slide a finger inside and hold it still. I want you to feel how much you ache and grip me, then you'll understand how much I want to dwell in heaven.

Now, what were you saying about uncomfortable squirming? :D