cake and eat it too

We lie in the bed, together, in the aftermath of us, a marathon session of sex, long overdue, long to be remembered.

We lay together, intertwined, fused by affection, united by lust, wrapped by fabric drenched in sweat and secretion.

Hot, sticky sheets, you know what I mean.

I hold her. She lets me. She holds my attention. I like that.

I breathe, almost sleep, nostalgic, almost dreaming about events just transpired. Her ass slides against my stomach. She stretches, toes pointed, back arching. Then she relaxes, fits back against me. I feel her skin slip and slide, her heartbeat-beat-beat, her hair tickling my chest, her soles cupping my ten toes.

We spoon as night turns to morning. I fall as fondness becomes more.


Last night we emerged from this very room, dressed to the nines, best dresses, not a stitch of underwear between us, merely slingbacks on our pretty little feet. On mine, a pair of Michael Kors. On hers, a pair of Rebels Collette that actually belong to me. So does the dress, but on her, both look meant-to-be. As do we.

CLICK-CLICK, CLICK-CLICK, CLICK-CLICK! all the way to the elevator, down to the lobby, a car awaits, speeds us to her favorite restaurant where we dine from sunset to moonlit, from appetizers to dessert. The champagne flows, as does our obvious passion for each other. People notice. We don't care. Under the table, our bare feet slip and slide against one another, toes tickle, soles caress, two perfect pairs teasing one another, tantalizing each other, adding to the delicious dinner, turning infatuation into desire into lust.

Check, please.

Foreplay continues. I love it. She takes me to a favorite place, a quiet pier, we walk off dinner, make out perched on the edge of forever, sounds of the ocean calming, thoughts of making love beckoning.

We go dancing, become the center of attention, two women everyone wants, two that only see each other. We shimmy. We shake. We bop. We grind. We have a ball.

When we can't take it anymore, we hightail it back to the hotel, elevator up, CLICK down the hall, can't get the door open fast enough.

We fall into bed, strip off each other what we chose for each other hours earlier. I push her down, she bounces on the mattress wearing only my slingbacks, but not for long. I grab an ankle, slip a manicured nail into the sling, slip it down her soft, plump heel until it's free, until I can slip off the shoe, revealing arch, sole, the pinkish-red underside of five yummy toes. I grab the other ankle, repeat the proceedings until I see arch, sole and five more yummy gumdrops I'm about to chew.

I tickle her, the foot in my hands with dancing fingers until she squirms amid giggles, until I know she warms, wets, succumbs.

I stop. She pants. She sighs.

I smile, take a big toe into my mouth, tasting its sweetest perfection, celebrating every foreplayful moment of tonight, every step that led us here, to bed, together, barefoot and about to love every inch of each other, all night long, a marathon, long overdue, so memorable.

I suck on her big toe, sounds of moaning exciting, an ocean of desire between us. I suck and savor the beginning of us.


Much later, amid the hot, the sticky, exhausted, satisfied, content, yet fervent, we lie together, intertwined, fused, united.

"You're intoxicating," she whispers, mimics, borrowing a line of hers from earlier in the night.

I laugh lightly, squeeze ardently.

"How did you know?" she murmurs. A familiar question, one that makes me nostalgic, yet this time feels so different.

"I didn't," I say, borrowing a line from me, from my past. "That's what makes it so cake and eat it too."

She squirms, twists herself onto her back, faces me, kisses me, lightly, ardently.

I smile, warm, wet. I was broken. Now I'm back. I hold this girl, not going anywhere, not doubting anything, content, fervent. Her hand slides across my skin, between, down, up into me. I close my eyes, open my heart. Her toes tickle my soles, more warm, more wet.

Two pairs of slingbacks strewn on the hotel floor, sun rising, me coming.

Can you say, perfect day?

Another wonderful tale from Jen Sorel. Folks, this woman is a damn good writer/ I love her work and it is great to see her get a book published. She definitely deserves it.....Oh how I wish I had the opportunity to tickle and tease her feet. i would be in heaven..