Sometimes I wake up at night and I can still feel her mouth on me. I wrap my arms around myself and ache to feel her body on mine, lick my fingers and wish I could taste her salty skin, find my hands inside my shorts and fool myself for just a minute that it is her hands on me, making me moan. Still, this is not nearly as difficult as being in her presence. To admire her, watching her move, studying every curve and remembering how my hands explored, no, loved every one of them. To talk with her, not hearing the sounds she makes, only seeing the shapes that form as they exit her lips, knowing how wonderful it felt to be inside her mouth.