Sunday mornings were made for lovemaking.

My cock is hard, thick and warm between my thigh and the silk sheet. I am surrounded in comfort, dozing as I wake from slumber. A purring feline snuggles beside me.

I catch myself smiling as my mind drifts, and the pillow cradled under my arm reminds me of the Grrl's waist, its softness in my palm the softness of her tummy. The arch of her generous hip, the warm seam of her womanly behind meeting my leg, stirs in my memory. My hand would caress her tummy in restfulness, smooth itself upward to gently cup and hold her right breast, and a soft pat on her bum as I would waken and leave the bed.

Or of Shayne, sweet Shayne who continues to haunt my mind and heart and bring me to tears with her absence. In the bed of her charming one-room flat, I'd snuggle against her and rain kisses on her sleepy, scrunchy face. The morning light would glint against her sexy nosering. 'Showering my love on her,' she'd slowly waken and start to giggle, and she would feel warm and delicious and sensual as she clung to me. Her belly made me smile. She would mumble an 'I love you' into my chest as she buried her face in me, my arms tight around her. Her thighs resting against my shoulders as I would later taste her, the feel of her round bum on my lips as I kissed her there, her morning groans shifting to morning gasps as she felt that first slip of my hardness into her as the cool breeze drifted across the bed.

I miss these ladies. I love these ladies. Dancing with a crowd of anonymous women during a salsa festival yesterday, I almost came to weeping as I thought of how strongly I love, appreciate, and adore women. I live for women like Shayne and the Grrl, and my heart is filled with fullness when I remember joyful, sensual moments with them.

Remembering them and their wonderful bodies beside me in the morning sustains me when it's a cat snuggling at my side. I smile to myself, my chest swells, and I think of them.