A shy reference librarian, and a college student who was disowned when she refused to submit to conversion therapy, meet in a bookstore. He's been waiting his whole life for her. Meanwhile, she's starting her whole life over. What ensues between the...
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The film version of The Princess Bride must be one of the best Valentine's Day movie selections ever. It's interesting to watch again, after having experienced a sexual awakening, and while being held tightly in the arms of the man who caused that awakening. The Dread Pirate Westley/Roberts doesn't just look like Errol Flynn anymore. I wouldn't put the film's perversion quotient as high as that in the Addams Family movies, but a lot of the scenes could be framed with an alternative meaning.
"Princess Buttercup looks fetching blindfolded, bound, and with a knife held to her throat," I observe.
"Down, girl."
I chuckle and snuggle closer to Magister. He's not in much of a position to make comments about the direction of my attention, if my power of observation is at all reliable. Although he did tell me at one point that his arousal comes more from watching my own aroused state, under conditions like these, than it does from watching characters in movies, however pretty the characters might be; which is odd, but probably no odder than anything else about us.
He's certainly not doing much to calm down my state of arousal, judging from what he's doing to my breasts, which is more evidence that he's not being serious with his advice, although what he is doing is distracting enough that I'm having a hard time paying attention to the movie. Good thing I've seen it countless times already. His hands are more interesting right now anyway.
When he starts kissing me along my neck and ears, and one of his hands makes its way lower, I stop paying attention to the movie entirely.
At some point he lets me know that the credits are running, and maybe we would have more room to pursue certain activities if we did them in bed.
That sounds agreeable.
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Wrestling. Straining. The age-old dance of bodies seeking, and finding, what they want in each other. Kisses that taste like wine and chocolate. Skin slick with desire and sweat. He thrusts into me; I cry out for more. Sandalwood from the scented candles blends with oils of frankincense and spikenard and cedar, and the musk of our passion.
