Her sense of touch, though, seems to be operable, but the touch she feels is almost mesmerizing in its softness as it moves over the brow of her right eye, as if testing for a response.
There is none.
Connie has been dreaming, she thinks, but is she still? She tries to open her eyes, but doesn't have the will.
Then that gentle touch is replaced by a warmer softness that slowly moves from one eyebrow to the other and back again. No other contact, and so soft that she can scarcely feel it. She is in a state of suspension at this moment, in this strange place somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and she has no control over anything that is happening, for she can't separate dream from reality. If there is a reality. It is a paralysis of sorts, for her body doesn't have the will to move and it is difficult to identify anything through the fogginess of her brain. Reason seems to be crippled.
At the same time, she is so completely relaxed and contented that control is only a fleeting consideration. Still, somewhere far away, buried deep in her neglected consciousness, a very small voice is asking, 'What is happening?'..... 'Should I be alarmed?'..... 'Is this really a dream?' But that small voice doesn't rise to awareness, for she feels completely, utterly safe in her fog, so none of those thoughts truly reach the blurry surface of her psyche as she yields to the tranquility of the moment.
She is somehow aware that touch is the only sense that is currently present and accounted for, so she almost subconsciously determines to evaluate the situation from that single sensation. But an extension of that sensation is already beginning to grow; an inner touch, soothing and warm. And familiar. Slowly spreading and making itself known. It is pleasant and comforting, chasing away any lingering trepidation attempting to enter her murky awareness.
Another step toward reality comes as the warm soft touch moves, as if a ghost, to the nape of her neck. "Lips?" she thinks vaguely as the warmth travels across her shoulder and lingers at the soft flesh of her upper arm. Then continuing on, the gentle touch alights softly, and then lingers, on the tiny cherry perched at the tip of her left breast, and again she thinks, "Yes....lips".... and, what she now realizes, is a moist, warm tongue. And now those warm inner sensations are beginning to intrude on her half-sleep and the mist is slowly beginning to clear as the first seeds of need appear. Need? For what?
That need is being slowly nurtured with each gentle movement of lips until with a hazy start she realizes that the answer to that need is in her left hand; it may have been there all along, almost magically materializing unbidden. And now she recognizes it. That awareness is bringing her one more step toward consciousness and in that slowly clearing mist she realizes it's not a dream at all, it's 'him'. Dale..... "He's home!"
Wakefulness for Connie is now proceeding happily if not hurriedly, and her left hand squeezes reflexively, informing her that his need has grown well ahead of hers. Dreamily, she is pleasantly aware that her presence, just her mere presence, has changed the very flow of blood in his body; just as his presence is, at this moment, changing the flow in her own, defining that inner warmth. As a consequence of this rerouted blood flow, neither of their deprived brains are working at full capacity.
His lips join with hers as they have done thousands of times, igniting further gentle waves of passion. Drowsiness is no longer an issue, for passion is quickly displacing it, leaving no room for sleep. In her ear Dale whispers "I'm home", and Connie can feel his smile against her skin. "Have you been having a nice dream?" That smile hasn't gone away.
What power they have over each other! Power that repeatedly produces mutual desire spurred on by intense mutual love, even after eleven years. It is erotica defined; repeatedly displayed and treasured.
And now his lips and fingers resume their slow southern migration, making multiple stops along the way....... that spot between her breasts, her rib cage, lingering at her stomach...... back to each cherry tipped breast; each and every location greeting him with enthusiasm as Connie begins small almost unconscious movements as other senses begin to come alive. Only sight is lagging. It is still dark, after all, but she can taste his lips, she can smell their arousal, she can hear his breathing, she can feel his body....... she just can't see.
And then he is gone! Just simply vanished! As if he was never their! All her senses again deprived.
In the darkness there is again no sound. No movement. Nothing. As if the dream had recaptured her. Did It? Wait! That musky smell of arousal is still there. Isn't it?
An eternity passes; several seconds at the very least. Nothing.
Then Connie feels the blanket and the sheet move, and incoming cool air from the foot of the bed. Lips touch the inside of her left ankle, then her right, and she knows to where he has vanished. And Connie breaths a sigh of relief that the dream had not abandoned her.
She doesn't know what to expect next. This is not normal behavior. Normal behavior would be for a very tired Dave to wake her as he slipped into bed, say "Love you", with his arm at her waist, and follow her in sleep. Morning would be a different matter. These two unabashedly love their loving.
But tonight, from the foot of the bed, a progression begins, led by hands, followed by lips; excruciatingly slow and deliberate, but steadily northward under the covers they move; hands and lips, exposing and igniting every available nerve ending in their path.
With this purely erotic activity Connie continues warming to the possibilities and she whispers, "Oh Lord, I do love surprises", because the thought and the words cannot be contained, and she squirms blissfully as her body absorbs the delicious impact to her now very alert nervous system. Anticipation is now adding even more fuel to the fire for she knows not what his next move will be. The unknown is now the most interesting of all possible options, and the anticipation is killing her.
His hands continue their purposeful journey up the outside of her calves to her knees and her thighs, like scouts blazing a trail for the lips to follow moments later up the inside of the soft flesh, lingering a short time at the back of each knee, then drawn like a magnet, slowly, purposefully, with maddening patience, to the furnace secreted away in the protective valley at the juncture of her thighs.
His hands lift her hips three inches off the mattress and finally his talented tongue finds its way to, and then through the soft tangle of curls dedicated to guarding her entrance. With a tender eagerness he adds to her growing natural wetness, while Connie makes indecipherable noises that are muted to him by the covers over his head.
As their body heat becomes unbearable Dale finally surfaces beside her, both of them laughing like teenagers as their lips meet and he returns to the place he had vacated several minutes before, their hands and mouths and bodies returning to the same amorous activities he had interrupted with his sudden detour.
Now body temperatures and passions are running much higher, but their passion is being restricted by her own left hand. Her firm grip is pleasurable to them both and she doesn't want to release it again as she squeezes hard and moves along the length of him. The groan that involuntarily escapes his busy mouth only adds to her pleasure.
Then quietly in her ear come the words she cherishes more than all others, "I love you Connie", demonstrating that his upper brain is still somewhat operable, and he pulls her to him in a happy embrace causing her left hand to release his now extremely rigid manhood.
"Mmm.... love you too, I'm so glad you're home." she mumbles softly.
In the natural progression of their horizontal ballet, he pulls her right leg over his hip, opening her to his intended invasion, and now Connie's right hand is instinctively there to guide him, with no resistance whatever, into the warmly welcoming paradise of her body in a lovers dance that has been repeated uncounted billions of times throughout mankind's existence. But Connie and Dale aren't thinking about those billions. This dance, right now, is the only one that matters.
It is a dance they themselves have rehearsed hundreds of times, eagerly inventing exciting new steps that surely no others have ever conjured up, while continuing always to savor the waltz and the tango; never allowing any opportunity for their love to turn stale.
This dance is the singular focus of the moment and the immediacy surprises them both. So intense. So powerful. This is the gift that joins their bodies and their hearts like nothing else can and sets the stage for every other aspect of their lives together.
As the final moments draw near with the inevitable and familiar rise to climax, Connie intertwines all ten fingers in Dale's hair holding him so close she might smother him, and they both know this isn't going to last long. But neither cares, for the goal is urgent and delay is no longer acceptable, or even possible, as their movements become frantically focused.
"Oh God lover, fuck me. Just fuck me..... hard", she whispers fiercely. It is language Connie never uses outside of their private intimacies, and rarely then, but right now they are the only descriptive words her tongue is capable of, for their meaning is precise, urgent, and unmistakable, propelling them both into the final stages of lovemaking that poetic pens have written of forever, but never, ever, been able to adequately describe; in any language....... and they collapse together in a heap of satisfied sweaty flesh still tightly joined, capturing volumes of air and allowing traumatized nerves to attempt a return to normalcy.
Even for Connie and Dale this is one for the record books. Twenty years from now they will lay in each other's arms on some special romantic night and one of them will say, "Remember that night........." and they will both immediately smile and focus on this night and it will once again feed their passion.
Now exhausted, they lay intertwined for minutes, maybe hours, or so it seems, before they can move.
Finally Dale speaks first, "Our capacity to do this to each other always amazes me. I can't imagine life without you."
"Or you lover." And then she adds "Oh Lord that was so good!" punctuated with a myriad of kisses on his face and nose and neck.
For a long time they lay together, silently loving, almost motionless, but with tiny familiar movements they continue to savor the passion as sleep begins to overtake them.
Now it is Connie who speaks: "Let's get more sleep. It's so seldom we get a whole weekend without the kids."
"But" she adds with another sleepy kiss and a playful grin "You can wake me again in the morning....... just like that if you want to." And curling up together they fall back into slumber in their warm, safe cocoon.