awakening them. The pop up slightly. So dark and delicious. Little nubs to rub my lips against and she moans, opening her legs. She directs me down there and I fall, overtaken by the gravity of her nebula. I lick. She likes. No fight as I fall into her and fill her and feel her tightness grasp me. And I wonder what she's thinking, but then I see it's written on her face like a poem dashed off in a moment of drunken brilliance. Her eyes peer into mine. We lock gazes as our bodies begin to truly move as one. This is not me ramming her to get off. This is not her waiting for it to be over. This is both reaching toward the same goal. If not love forever then for the moment. This very moment. So close to the edge. Our breathing is labored. The way she savors the taste of my tongue in her mouth as if it was oxygen. And I feel her grab me and pull me into her. The tower awaits, but for now we dance and move together as if meant to be this way forever and ever. And yet if we never separate, what's to make these moments when we come together – when we cum together – so special? There is meaning in the ultimate forms of sexual expression. Beyond the cheap and meant only to titillate variety. And I stop thinking of Erotica Book Covers and come back to her. She looks up at me and then we switch without having to say a word which is a good sign. On top now and in control, she moves slow and deliberately. Her hands are pressed down on my chest for balance as I slide and move inch by inch and then faster and a slightly different angle as she finds the spot. Her spot. I see her face light up and know she's found it as I see if I can adjust and use this to cum as well and we have a match. The last push toward the edge and then over. Quick spurts for me and a warm glow for her. Or so I've been told. And looking back I know now some women do pretend. The afterglow, though, is when you know when you have a good match, that otherworldly bliss of just a kiss and the orgasm can last light years. Her hand draped over my chest. She plays with my nipple absentmindedly. The tower awaits and I try to gather myself for the third. Jumping up suddenly, she laughs and heads up the spiral staircase to my most sacred room of my castle. I follow, slower. Older. Ten years makes a lot of difference. I hear her laughing. I reach the top of the wooden stairs and the circular room with walls of one way glass look out at the spread of land. She landed on the round couch that went the circumference of the room. She tells me geometry turns her on but trigonometry puts her to sleep. I take her from behind at an odd angle on the couch. She is my muse. She is ancient and young at the same time. I wonder how much time I could spend with her when we weren't locking bodies and trading fluids. I came back to the moment as she started to cum again as I pressed into her. Then, on her knees, I enter her from behind. We both stare out the window at my wealth. I swear she gets wetter when she sees something so big, so immense. I tense up and cum into her. I collapse on her for a brief second. We exchange a quick glance as we sit back. “Drink?” “Water.” “Smoke?” “Some pot would be nice.” I walk over and hit a hidden button. A small refrigerator descends from the ceiling. I remove two bottles of water, a bottle of wine and an ounce of smoke. She rolls as she hydrates and I decide on the wine, a cheap red. The rich stay rich for a reason. At some point you begin to fear losing the money. This is a sad day and only the strong survive. But for now I'm with her and about to smoke and the fermented grapes dull my mind enough to be sociable. She hates when I ask her to leave immediately. She's going nowhere in her life, but she doesn't want to hear that from me. In some ways, I think she's much happier than I am. The 99 percent bitch and moan but it's them who have the happiness – or the potential for happiness. And money does bring security and the