Somersby By The Lake

by Vivienne Drake

 

Dearest Somersby, 

Last fall, do you remember?  Those mornings beneath the weeping willow, I remember looking down into your beautiful eyes and thinking that life teetered on the brink of perfection.  Only a cancellation of the coming winter and a continuous autumn would make it more perfect. To cascade our canopy with the rich deep colours of fall. 

But, as all things do, our time together came to an end.  Although I have sifted through the winter months by the lake, Iíve been struck by a most dreadful melancholy.  I rarely let it show, but inside I felt the emptiness of the days at my precious lake, before you, dearest Somersby came along and swept my heart away. How I miss you.  I miss your kisses and the way you laughed at me for not wanting to go swimming in the nude.  You taunted me about not caring what others might think of us. You, yourself, had no such qualms. You stood like Adonis to the rising sun and dropped your trousers. You swept me away with the look of you.  Your scent, itís musk kissing my nose as it drifted from you.  I watched as the sun glistened from the light layer of perspiration on your shoulders. I wanted so to lick it from your skin.  To taste you as the delicacy you are to me. I refrained, absorbing the vision before me instead. I watched your buttocks as you crouched, feeling the chilly water of the early morning. 

That particular day by the lake will stand in the halls of my memory as perhaps one of the most amazing sights Iíve ever witnessed. You stood up from your crouch, stretching your arms high above your head and arching your back, prepared to dive into the chill water of the stream.  You looked like a Greek athlete ready for the games, my Somersby.  Your body seemed as bronze at that moment when the morning met the golden rays of the sun.  It took my breath away, so beautiful was the image.  

Your body sliced into the water and my eyes were riveted to your perfect bottom.  I watched it disappear into the water and waited, my breath held fast. The morning stood as in a dream. Even the bees by the bank river flowers flew in slow motion.  And suddenly you came straight up out of the water, your skin gooseflesh yet sporting a magnificent healthy flush. Your muscles detailed themselves into a work of art, your body perfection at that moment. 

I remember vividly reaching under the blanket I lay beneath, my body still relaxed from our lovemaking earlier.  I let my fingers drift about lightly around my bud, hard and alive.  I watched your body as the water ran in rivulets from your hair and shoulders. You stood there, beautiful in your naked state.  I almost fainted, my body feeling as though it were on fire all over again. Just the site of you and I wanted to ride your beautiful cock again.  I wanted to feel your lips on mine and your manhood buried deep inside my body. I wanted to ride you hard once more.  Instead I watched you swim and reveled in that sight. 

Dearest lover, how can I ever wait the fortnight until you are here with me once more. I shall have my Somersby  by the Lake once again.  I shall take you to its banks and spread our tartan blanket, strip ourselves of our clothes and make love in the morning dew once again.  I shall ride you and ride you hard.  I shall lick your god-like body and suck on your rod until you spill your seed deep in my throat.  I shall suck and lick your balls, teasing each one as it responds to my touch. 

I shall look deep into your eyes, dear dear Somersby, and I shall know that once again, life is perfection.  God has handed us perfection.

 

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