She drove up to the conference hoping to be inspired, to learn, to find her muse. She never guessed that the pages of her trip would end up tucked away in the impulses of a night, seduced into letters of love.

The first day she entered the room and sat down at a table, alone. He came over and joined her. They introduced themselves and talked small. She thought to herself he had a lot to learn, not realizing he was one of the speakers, the teachers. Throughout the week, she found him sitting next to her, making her laugh, being silly - stupid even, but for her, serious had folded her tight, doubled her over into knots and she was there to let go of it's hold. They became friends. His words spoke with honesty, his smile inviting. They walked in the woods, laid outside in the grass telling secrets under the stars on the pitcher's mound. The space between them became smaller and smaller and she began to wish he was next to her, when he wasn't; she wondered where he was when she didn't see him. She could sense his craving of her herstory, her backdrop, where she came from. His curiosity kept him close, wanting to understand her.

By the last day of the conference the pull to him was persuasive, potent. Something inside her wanted him and sensed the urgency of her last chance to escape the regret of the unfinished. She knew his home crossed borders and he would be flying out the next day. That night she watched him perform, after his performance he sat next to her, whispered ridiculous words into her ear, each syllable a suggestion, an undertone of possibility that would play its hand in the night ahead. Afterwards, she invited him up to her room. They sat on her couch and reveled in the moments they sketched together over the week. With her head to his chest, conversations filled the silence and she spilled her stories over his eager ears. After a few hours, his mouth, a steady stream of beautiful and amazing, gave way to stillness. As the words caved in to pregnant pauses he weaved his fingers between hers. They listened to music and tempted the boundaries of student and teacher. He played with her hair, braiding it, smoothing it down. He leaned in close, and took in the scent of her skin. His eyes settled on hers. Her breath, hot and elusive, became heavy with possibility resting on his lips. Soft and full, her lips met his. They pierced the veil of student and teacher. Hands drifted to open skin, mouths spoke in native tongue. As she adjusted her body she slid under her skirt, a sign of her intent. With the suggestion of relaxation, she asked him into the bedroom.

Her bed was small and tucked away next to the wall. There, they lay next to each other. The initial moments of awkwardness gave way to comfort. His body heat was welcome in the cold exterior of her room. Her stomach graced his back, their legs woven through with the uneven breath of a turn-on . It was strange and silly and hot and fierce and worked up to this. He turned his head to look into her eyes with some kind of sensitive expression, sweet talk, to tell her how wonderful she was. She would lean in when she answered him hoping he would feel her breath on his neck and respond. The subtle ways they tried to play the game. The subtle ways he played his role, the teacher - and her, the student. The subtle. Subtle only works for so long. She was tired of subtle. The subtle advances shifted when she pushed herself tight into him, her arm gentle against his chest but taut with intention as each fingertip smoked it's way further underneath his clothing, further into him. Subtle only works for so long. The cradle of her hips rocked smooth behind him, breath behind him, wet behind him. She rested the weight of her curves into him with expectation, his back speaking in subtle shudders. He lay his hand over hers, fingertips in motion, like an escort, he led her down.

She didn't like to be led, subtle wasn't her way.

In two beats she had him underneath her. He looked up at her. Her hands, holding him down, lessened their grip as she laid her lips on top of his, hips straddling his. She tugged at his clothes as they fell to the floor piece by piece. With each layer of nakedness he answered back an exhale. Playfully undressing, she slipped through the satin of her bra and allowed him to take her in. His arms reached, accepted her waist in his hands and his fingertips traced the lines of her body. He seduced her skin into tiny trails of excitement, her eyes closed with the tremor of it all, her hips shifting back and forth. He begged her to let him inside, but she only laughed as she began her slow descent.

Breath curled around his ear, poured over his neck. Her tongue traced the hills and valleys of his chest, his nipples stiffened under the pressure. She tasted the salt of his heat as she opened the button of his jeans, unzipped and drew them off, thrown to the floor. Reaching down low, she pulled him up and took him into her, just for a second. Full, her body answered him with a shiver of more. She would have stayed there, but she wanted to taste it, taste him, taste her. Every move she made against his skin, against his body, was etched between her legs in anticipation to feel him again. Twisting herself down, her mouth drew him in, he slid hard against her lips. Her mouth sculpted around him steady and slow as she savored the taste of the ocean. His hips rose to meet her. She took her time, paid her respects, and lost her patience as his fingers persuaded her to take him in again.

He lured her underwear down her thighs as her hips, sliding fluid, welcomed him in between her legs. Her body curved into his hand, flexing with him, wild with him. She was liquid and her breath hard, words surfaced but crashed under the seduction of his artistry. The temptation rocked her forward on his fist, rhythm. The edge of pain dulled by the slick mess of sex in constant flow she couldn't hold it. She couldn't control it. She carved herself out of vocal slips and oh yes, and the hot sound of his hand holy with her pleasure. Before she ripped through the layer of breathless he laid her back, breath catching up, and lowered himself down onto her, with a whisper of beautiful. His body filled her, all of her, inside her. She exhaled loudly the moment she felt him. He pumped slow and even, she got caught in the rhythm. His hips, her hips, the movement of their bodies suggested some kind of carnal language. She sucked him into her, thigh thrust against the wall pushing him deeper. She grabbed his head by his hair, pulled him closer, and, tongue trailing his neck, ear she whispered, "harder." He found his way inside her only this time his body slid slower. She felt every inch of her beg, knuckles bared white behind the bed post and she felt it coming. A loose sound slipped from her mouth as it happened. She poured over him, a tidal wave run rampant. Her chest opened, heat draped her body in motion and she let go, to be taken. Her cunt undulated in time to his cadence. She took hold of him and let her fingers dig in because the sweat and the sex had them crazy until their hearts slowed and her toes, they relaxed down to his. And he played with her hair, damp and curled. And her eyes closed. Her pulse, his pulse. They lay there, trailing off into exhaustion.

She woke up to a quiet good-bye. His bags packed, car waiting. A light kiss on her tired eyes. His arms wrapped around her. She walked him out, her feet shuffled through the corridor, waded through the thickness of I may never see you again. Both their eyes were filled with the night before. They made a promise of words and friendship across state borders. The door closed. She turned around to head back to bed and on the kitchen counter lay a book of Pablo Neruda's poetry, love sonnets. It wasn't there when she brought him home earlier in the night. A parting gift.

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