3. Cuddle with Kacey

Transcript

Hi. It's good to see you here. Thank you for coming by.

I've, uh, I've been rushing around a bit and it's just a relief to slow down and breathe with you again. Come sit with me here on the couch. You can lean into me, fitting your body between my arms, my legs.

Let me wrap them around you. Life has been pretty nuts lately, huh? Even when it's not right up in your face, it can seriously seem like the world itself is moving on a fast track.

But we don't have to take that pace right now. Let's just focus on where we're at here and now. Close your eyes and feel the soft pressure from my arms across your breasts.

The steady weight of your breath as you breathe in and out. I love feeling the slight changes in position that your back makes against my chest as you breathe. The light rise and dip against my belly.

Feel the air fill your lungs. The air that surrounds us right now, full and rich with familiar scents, glimpses of past moments, experiences, and associations. Feel that slight coldness as it enters your nostrils, gently coursing over their inner ridges to fill your lungs, reflecting off the very back of your taste buds as it passes down your throat and into your chest.

Can you feel me breathing against you? The slight differences in our rhythms, the rise of my chest against your back, and the steady thump of my heart behind your left shoulder blade. I am here with you.

I am listening too. The near silent crunches of parting hairs as my lips meet the top of your head. The dry hollowness of air moving in and out of my nostrils as I breathe over you.

Your smell filling me from just inches below. The way your scent activates the images of you in my mind. The flashes of your smile, your voice, that look you get when you catch my eye, all in a split moment as this palette of you fills me.

A steady chill runs through me, goosebumps blooming on my forearms, and I shift, caressing your upper arms and tucking my thumb between your left arm and your breast, taking refuge in the warmth trapped there. Feel this air we recline in. How it can feel so still, but the closer you pay attention, how alive it is.

Pushed around with our breath, our presence in this space, move your fingers through it. Can you feel the slight changes against the nerves at their tips? Can you feel the warm roughness of my hands cupped over you as you take them in yours? The thickening skin under their folds, softer above and malleable over the veins and tendons that let me squeeze your fingers between mine.

Feel that warmth between them. How the valleys that lie at their deepest midpoint gradually do with sweat from the heat our bodies produce together. Run your thumb over mine, over the pronounced wrinkles that line its joint, the dry smoothness of the nail, the hard edge of its tip, falling away to reveal the smoothest edge.

Feel the warmth of the layers of skin just below. Feel how warm just the single digit is against you. And feel how warm your hand is between its company.

You have amazing hands and something I've always loved about you. And I'm absolutely taking in their range of beauty now as they fit into me. Your knuckles, the slight changes in the tapestry of muscle surrounding them when your fingers move, the dimples woven into the wrinkles between your wrinkles, sometimes evident, sometimes absent.

So many of these features are common, but that doesn't change the fact that I like yours. I could spend the night poring over you. But instead, I'd just rather enjoy this moment we share right now.

Another kiss to your crown as your scent enters me, making me close my eyes and savor it. Again, flirting with my tongue on the way down, redirecting my attention. What do you taste right now? What does your tongue feel? Slowly run it over the ridges of the roof of your mouth.

Take in how complex that roof is. The smooth barricades of your teeth, kissed by mounds of wet cushioning at their bases. As you move your tongue around, gently prodding its home, can you feel your spittle bubble against it?

Some bubbles drier than others, perhaps a small reservoir of saliva collecting somewhere below. Collect this and let it move across your tongue, spanning your range of taste buds, letting it play to the sweet, the sour, the bitter. And notice how it can take on each of these tastes within its own palate.

My own tongue seems to pick up this variety as it moves within my mouth. Sometimes it's easy to forget that we have our own little collection of flavor going on within us, reminders of the food we enjoy, our morning coffee, or even just those natural flavors that come with being a living thing. Parting from your fingers, I slowly move my hands over your belly, letting the smooth skin dip under my edges, resting my palm over your belly button, the rise and fall of your breaths more pronounced here, and evident in the expanding tension of your middle as you inhale.

So many subtleties here as well, the tiny hairs that come out of your hair, the tiny hairs that coat your whole body, just as fine here, a bit longer, but fair and often seemingly translucent along your central curve, thickening in its center as if signifying some natural predilection for symmetry. The smooth indent of your belly button, an original scar that we share, a reminder of day one here. Here, stroke your belly with me, slowly.

Feel its smoothness, the hairs so fine they hardly dare to make themselves known, the dip that moves down to your waist, often wrinkled by the layers of clothes we wear. Indenting our bodies after a long day. How does it feel now? Is it smooth? Suppressed with the evidence of an elastic band, the diagonal pleat of denim.

Can you feel the change in texture of your skin here? Does it feel good to run your hand along this threshold? Our skin is a landscape in itself, full of different terrain and textures.

Rub your feet together, work your way up, letting your legs pass by one another until you reach your thighs. Notice how much coarser your feet are from your thighs, how they wear the impact of carrying you through each day. The firmness between your calves that help propel your steps, hidden beneath their supple cushion of skin.

The softness of your thighs providing the padding needed to sit comfortably, as you are now, between my own softness, the textures of my skin pressed against you with their own differences in terrain. I am somewhat firmer than you in places. My hair often thicker, more dense.

Softness less concentrated in my thighs and hips, and more in my belly, my ass. My chest, of course, is hairier than yours. The nerve centers in my nipples less alert, but no less interested in touch.

But no less interested in touch. My belly button is a bit of an enigma, once an outie, but more recently an innie, somewhat sensitive to touch. My belly is vibrant with hair that spans down to my pubis, where curls and waves.

I am both soft and firm, strong and tender, my arms confident in their strength, and my legs borderline cocky in their fullness. And when I am here with you, I am hot, heated. The feeling of you resting between my extremities is one of deep comfort.

The resistance of your body against mine, as my legs squeeze you, send electric thrills through me, increasing my energy.