"The closest thing I ever had to a religious experience was in the arms of a
woman...", I said to my sister as she finally over tried my patience while
trying to convince me to give up my wicked ways and find GOD. She shut up,
and I remained convinced.

A woman's body is smoother than a man's, soft and warm. Fingertips skim
lightly over contours that please first the eye and then the touch. Lips
soften and open to allow exploration of taste and texture in another mouth,
while breathing becomes a shared experience. Hairy skin rasps over smooth as
communion becomes imminent.

Breasts have their own taste and texture, and the allure of their purpose -
the source of nourishment for new generations, eye magnets for the male of
the species, the wondrous otherness and endless variations of form. The
tongue slides effortlessly over the silky flesh, delighting in contrast
between the smooth surface and pebbled, extended tips.

The navel is ticklish, muscles bunching and sliding under the skin as I lave
attention on it on my way past. I linger a while, but grow impatient to
press on.

Ah, the goal and the source. The first whiff of ammoniac scent, the
surprisingly harsh feel of hair on the otherwise smooth body, the slightly
salt and slightly chalk taste of that first, tentative probe into feminine
mystery that can only be shared but never experienced. The inner thigh is
the smoothest and softest place on the female body, sleek against my ear and
warm to my cheek. I can feel goose bumps erupt as I taste the folds of flesh
where legs meet torso, using my tongue to outline and define my triangular
target.

Guardians of the portal begin to unfurl, coaxed patiently by lips and
tongue. Small, sucking kisses help reveal that most fascinating altar,
humanities gateway to the imperfect world. Convoluted, warm, and wet, its
secrets waiting to be read by lingual braille. Slippery secretions await the
questing tongue, to be spread reverently over newly exposed surfaces as
tension slowly winds through the muscles and sinews of the supine body.

The small knot of nerves near the triangle's apex deserves, and gets,
special attention. Tremors begin to occur, radiating from the center with
increasing frequency until the body convulses, synapses discharging singing
sheets of fire along nervous pathways unused to such high levels of
excitation.

Before the storm has died, while calm is still only something that might be
reached, I begin my journey back up the body, dragging my own aroused and
engorged center up the bed in the sure and certain expectation of release.
Natures miracle has made flaccid flesh into rigid anticipation, nudging
blindly toward a lubricious welcoming clasp. Muscles strain toward an ever
closer, tighter union. Liquid friction becomes unbearable, and the world
shatters as half of life bursts from one to the other.

As breathing slows, heartbeats drop, and the world comes back into focus, it
is here that I find . . . peace.