You smile as I enter your house, it's been a while and each time carries the same sense of expectation. You are standing there, purple silk harem pants and a diaphanous blouse, smile beaming at me, and a wicked glint in your eye. The door closes behind me, your rustle a small plastic packet before me, the deep rich black resin clear to my eyes, my heart jumps at the sight. Opium, damn it's been so long since we shared this pleasure.

I slip off to the bedroom to get changed, damn you've prepared well, it's no longer the old bedroom we shared those years back, but today it's a voluptuous boudoir, festooned with cushions and candles with silk and velvet adoring every surface, I watch you watching me undress, slipping out of the battered jeans and bulky jumper and sliding into the silk harlequin pattern pants and light silk shirt I brought with me. The silk feels cool, light to the skin, invigorating to say the least.

We slump together; wine seems to have appeared from the fridge, glasses sitting on the small box that dwells next to your futon. Reclining on cushions we raise glasses and toast absent-mindedly, relaxing and talking about things past, things present, of pleasures shared, and pleasured gained apart. We talk Crowley and philosophy the conversation ambling through a dense terrain of shared loves as the bottle slowly drains, occasionally hands brushing together as we share cigarettes and feel the afternoon draw on.

You suddenly pull the conversation to a halt, and smiling dip your hand into the wooden box beside us, it reappearing brandishing a clear glass pipe, elegantly styled with a long tube leading from its crystal clear bowl. With supple fingers you slip some of the deep black resin into the bowl and wicked glint gleaming in your eye hold the bulb over the lit candle beside the bed. I watch as white vapour rises, filling the crystal, climbing the neck like an ethereal serpent, and curling upwards towards your waiting lips.

You inhale, I watch your chest rise, filling with the intoxicating smoke, the look of pleasure donned by your face indescribable, total. Your eyes close for a moment, then reattach their gaze to my own, your hand offering me the pipe. Not loosening the grip on your eyes I place the pipe to my own lips and draw, the smoke snaking into my mouth its flavour heavy, exotic, almost immediately I feel the week recede, my mind starting on the journey to the land of Keats, Byron and Shelly, where all is darkly, entrancingly beautiful.

We recline together, words not required as we share the pipe to and fro, savouring the flavour of the moment, our bodies inches apart, occasionally stretching, revelling in the luxurious feeling that true pain-free existence provides. Time simply ceases to be, it could have been an hour, a day, a week; all that is present is our selves, our thoughts, our bodies, and our bliss.

We slump eventually, the pipe places to one side breathing slowly, deeply as if asleep, half opened eyes once more drawn to each other across the inches that are between us. The only sounds the dim noise of London providing a subtle harmony to the soft rhythm of our slowly beating hearts.

Casually we kiss, not passionate, lips brushing softly across their partner, touching softly, the sensation of their brushing sending a pulse of pleasure cascading beautifully down along our bodies. Nerves lighting up like the streets after dark, firing off one then the next, each light showing another pleasure that could as yet be fulfilled.

Hands entwine, fingertips playing with their partners, brushing; a fleshy game of cats cradle. Heavy lidded eyes gaze into each other with a sense of comfort, well past the stage of longing, desire a memory replaced by an intimate familiarity.

Slowly our bodies encroach on each other, drawing together in that familiar warmth. Flesh and silk mingling together in a sensory heaven, touching, caressing each sensation a pinnacle of pleasure, every moment prolonged for an exquisite agony of time.

Fingers slip between buttons, revealing flesh that beautiful sensuous velvet of skin. Each motion of our hands unravels more, opening the silken veneer it's cool surface giving way to the warmth beneath. Fingers soft and slow tease the texture of our skin, each brush, every touch invigorating, the pleasure forcing lips apart in soft sighs, the precious air slipping from heavy lungs, the warmth enveloping our faces.

Half naked we drift for a while into sleep, dreams so vivid, so beautiful echo through our minds, our occasional stirring into awareness adding the sleet glimpse of fleshy reality to the torrid, beautiful landscapes of our drugged minds.

When we awake, if you can call it awake is such a blissful state can truly exist while fully conscious, we close that final gap. Face to face we lay our legs entwined, our bodies locked together the root of me entering you so slowly, rocking together, eyes locked, bodies in harmony once more. We stay there for what must be an eternity; the subtlest movements creating divine friction, every sensation felt in colour, every heartbeat feeling so vital.

Linked like this we talk, not of sex, not of love, just talk ideas, thoughts dreams, venting our inner aspirations like a volcano in slow motion. We switch positions once, twice, thrice, untold times, moving where the pleasure leads at the moment. The feeling from my manhood buried deep inside your womanhood radiating, reminding me of times we spent as god and goddess in a hundred rituals, of times long since past but revived for the moment, our shared passion, the woman we both loved.

Finally we fall asleep, still locked together, the drug finally totally overcoming consciousness, submitting to its allure utterly. The dreams are vivid; once more we are all together, sharing that bed as a perfect three. Exploring discovering, exciting, once more she is alive and once more so are we.

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