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Title: Gentle Romance
Author: DevotedxMe
Disclaimer: I wrote this. It's an original character, I guess, and..there.
Warnings: Very careful wording of an otherwise lime fiction piece. You get the hint, but nothing gruesome and all of it's vague. I promise.
Notes: Please leave your comments and suggestions. Feedback is always appreciated.



All romances should be gentle at first. A shy glance perhaps or a smile that means to communicate what words could not. A common conversation that is meant to tell the other that 'please, look at me the way I look at you.' Without a sound, I close my eyes, still picturing the waving blades of the ceiling fan in my mind. Romances /should/ be gentle at first, but not everything does as it should.

My skin itches with the memory of first experiences, painful and fiery and still imprinted in my skin. I shudder and lay on my stomach, an attempt to soothe the nauseous feeling from bad food or those awful thoughts. My eyes slowly open to peer at my hand, the fingers resting lightly on the empty pillow beside me. The pain in my abdomen abates, but sleep does not come too easy for me.

Once again, my eyes close and I let out a soft breath, a possible sigh. Who knows for certain, for I am alone in bed tonight. I had spoken to you today, as much as one can speak via the computer. You made me smile and laugh, or at least in my mind you did. A pleasant warmth began to wind its way from my heart and around my lungs and stomach, a slow virus that might put me to rest.

While our conversation may have been innocent, I was guilty tonight. Like all of the other nights, except you didn't take part this time. My fingers that rested gently on the pillow clenched and I slowly resumed my previous position on my back.

Thoughts wander, and hands often follow..

Every teasing joke, drew my breath and I found my heart quickening, guilt and the pleasure that came with it. When you would say 'goodnight', I would sit there, trying to be the strong one and walk away, free of the crime and shame. But, I am a common man, weaker than you may think.

Fantasy steals my breath and this romance heats my blood; soon my hands travel down my skin, smoothing over sensitive flesh. You should know, I am picturing you when I probably should not, but I wish to give you satisfaction. My thoughts lull me into this erotic dream and seduction ensues.. It's a painful process, but I enjoy the nightly routine. A dream begins.

It's always the classical bed, although the details are fuzzy and discreet in afterthought. I do remember the feel of the sheets, and the shade is just the right warm vanilla tone that seems to curl just right in our black and white affair. When it begins, I am always surprised and pleased, though our positions are never the same.

This time, I am partially over your slender body, the smooth skin of your legs sliding against my own. We are without dress this time, thankfully unrestrained by the concept of clothes that my mind occasionally produces. With certainty-- as much as one can have in a dream-- I know that I will drink my pleasure from you tonight.

Soon enough, the symphony begins, our flesh sliding against each other and the beautiful sound of the violin or cello-- bows and strings complementing each other. Slowly, the tempo begins to increase, the percussion of our breaths batting at the air as we exhale from heated kisses.

'..' The flute of your voice saying my name sashays through the air, fleeting and lingering simultaneously. Weak and soft, it carries the mood of the piece; patiently, I draw another shallow breath from your lips, and my name is whispered again. There is a small silence in the music, the oboe twining its way around our limbs as I slowly glide down.

In this dream, time has many dimensions and only follows the notes written in my head on the music sheet. The drawn out sounds of the flute and the soft moans of the violins guide the rhythm as I wet your apetite and my own. Your back arches from the vanilla sheets, your voice softer and more eloquent in that one moment as you call my name.

Soon, it is just the duet of violins playing as we lie there, gently stroking skin-- hoping to touch beyond the physical. The quiet of the violins hints towards the crest of the symphony, the building tension as we begin the last act-- the gentle keys of the piano are whispering in the distance. Soon, the humming melody begins, the orchestra that we have created winding around us as you grasp the sheets, our breaths mingling between us.

'..oh god..oh..' Once again, you say my name, twice, three times. My lips claim yours, the tempo never slowing-- not for a moment. A new instrument, I do not know which, makes itself known on the music sheet, and I realize it is the sound of my moans, murmured against your skin. Our bodies flush against the creme of the soft sheets and soon, we hit the grand final of the symphony-- the illustrous peak we've been climbing towards.

You cry out, my name once more coming alive on your tongue. My lips part and breath rushes from my lungs, expectantly waiting for a chance to exhale. It doesn't come-- the symphony dies and reality drifts in. Your name hangs silently in my mind, and my mouth catches your own in a frail attempt to communicate. Shame is hidden from you as you fall asleep in my dream and I slowly wake up, sheets wrapped around my feverish body.

Shame and guilt sears my heart and silently, I turn onto my side to face that empty pillow. My finger traces your name into the creme cotton case, and still your name does not fall from my lips. My lips move barely, exhaling breath, and without a sound, your name hangs in the air. Ashamed, I close my eyes and sleep, wondering how you'll hate the silence I can only fill with moans and occasional soft laughter.

The swaying of the fan as it cools my flesh soothes me into some security, and the last thought reminds me of a gentle romance. I love you, the words curl around my fingertips as they lie still upon the empty space on my pillow.

Last Comment from Author:
This was brought to my attention by one of the readers. In quick answer/summary, this piece is based off the idea of an Internet romance, just made more innocent and sweet in a way. (He met and started a romance with someone over the Internet.) He knows it's not safe/right, but he feels for that person. Thus, the reason for his guilt-- he's reacting to something that could be all lies.

And finally, the reason that the narrator is ashamed. Well, just like he's worried if the person he's in love with is real (you know what I mean), he also has a secret. The narrator does not have a voice in reality; he cannot speak. This has only slightly been eluded to throughout the story.

Sorry for the confusion. Twas my fault. (: I hope you all understand the story now and enjoyed it still.

I didn't understand what was painful or why the narrator felt ashamed. sweatdrop Other than that it was nicely written though.

I agree with the first comment. *sigh* I need to hug a pillow now. crying Wonderful work!

That was so beautiful!! awesome job!