It ended with the same fervor...

It ended with the same fervor with which it began. The lights dimmed, creating the idyllic ambience. The music began. The place was negotiated upon to increase the intense feelings about to be expressed by both parties. Feelings of indescribable euphoria, bliss and arousal. Feelings teenagers can only pretend to appreciate. Feelings only those with a mature understanding of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness can endure. I slowly close my eyes and allow myself to fall victim to the excitement. It ended with the same fervor with which it began.

My body is completely immersed in the moment. My senses are inundated with a plethora of contradictory stimuli. Fast, slow. Hot, cold, Hard, soft. I cannot control my reactions, nor can I be held accountable for them. My toes begin to curl. My skin begins to pimple. I am unconsciously scratching my own arm to make sure that this is not a dream. That these sensations are very, very real. I sense the pain from my own nail and release my grip.

I’m still awake, but I have stopped breathing. I am unconsciously holding my breath. Afraid that breathing may frighten away whatever animal is the source of such pleasure and pain. When I hold my breath the pleasure elevates. I am able to concentrate fully on what is taking place. Breathing is only a distraction. Seconds begin to feel like minutes. I am unable to release my breath. It is caught in my throat. Surprisingly, fear has no place to be felt.

My tongue is heavy. My heart is pounding. My skin begins to turn blotchy red and white. A sea of pink. I’ve never had this reaction before. “Just go with it.” I resolve. It ended with the same fervor with which it began.

My eyes begin to swell with tears. Hot, salty tears stream down my cheeks and pool in the creases of my neck. “Why am I crying? What am I so emotional about?” I realize that this act of movements is a release. A total release of the perfect trinity; mind, body and soul. My daily existence in entropy has driven me to seek this temporal catharsis.

My head grows too heavy to lay in alignment with my body. I allow it to fall slightly to one side. I slowly and ever so carefully adjust my hips in an attempt to maximize my pleasure. Ever so carefully as to not disturb my partner and their tedious task at hand.

I am being played. Consumed. I am his instrument and he is the musician. I am being strummed like a guitar, tickled like a piano, plunked like a violin. He guides me with a mature, gentle hand. He is engaged by my naïve demeanor.

The emotion in the room begins to rise. Slowly, rhythmically, methodically. We are not individuals, but a unit. The only people to experience this same emotion, in the very place, at this very moment.

Louder. Harder.

I am breathing heavier now. Not afraid of scaring the beast, but afraid these sensations will never cease. “Will I ever go back to normal? Will my heart always race like this?” I can not bear it any longer. Tears streaming down my face, voice quivering, hands shaking.

Louder. Harder. Faster.

“More. More! MORE!” I manage to mouth. It slows down slightly only to change movements. Then begins again. I like this one even better than the first.

Louder. Harder. Faster.

It ended with the same fervor with which it began. “Yes. Yes! YES!” My mind screams. I bite my lip so that the words don’t leap from my chest. It ends. I am left breathless, perspiring, exhausted. The lights raise slightly. The orchestra takes their final bow, gathers their instruments and exit stage left.