It always starts the same way…I'm in this bar. Don't know how I got there, or what I'm doing, I'm just there. Sitting on a barstool, a shot of tequila in front of me, and a real sad song on the jukebox. I run my finger around the rim of the glass, trying to get all the salt off - which I asked them not to put on there anyway.

Suddenly, as if by magic, he's standing there next to me. The bartender is down at the other end, flirting with some bleached blonde bimbo, so he stands there, waiting patiently. I glance up at him, taking in his face, his chest, and let my eyes travel downward as far as I can without moving my head. I hear him clear his throat and I turn towards him. He smiles. God, I love that smile! I smile back, all the while trying to figure out how he can be so sexy and seem so totally oblivious to it at the same time.

I mean, he knows he's hot, doesn't he? Even he couldn't be that dense. He says something to me. Don't really even know what it is, just something real nonchalant, like "hi", or "hey" or whatever. And, like the idiot that I am, I just smile. I'm afraid to speak, afraid that I'll look like a blubbering idiot or something. When I finally find my voice, I squeak out a "hi" or "hey" or whatever, then look back down at my glass.

Then he asks, "whatcha drinkin'?" Okay, my smart-ass side replies in my head, I have a shot glass covered in salt and a lime wedge lying next to it…I'm drinkin' a martini! But, the wiser side of me says, "tequila." He nods at this, as if it were some startling revelation. "You have a beautiful voice," he says. I thank him, and tell him that his voice isn't so bad, either. This makes him laugh. Well, not laugh really, but he chuckles quite loudly.

The bartender sees him and rushes down to see what he wants. He orders a beer, then hands over his money. When the bartender returns with his change, he says, "keep it, and give her another shot." I thank him and he smiles, then turns and walks away. After a few minutes, I look up and see that he has pulled up a chair at a table in the far corner. His friends say something and he glances up at me, smiling. They turn and smile at me. One of them says something and he shrugs. His friend slaps him on the shoulder and says something else to him, then he looks down at the table.

I'm watching him in the mirror behind the bar, as he stands up and walks towards me again. I pretend not to notice, even though my heart is racing a mile a minute. He is next to me once again. Without a word, he spreads his legs and slides gracefully onto the barstool to my right. I glance over at him.

"Hi," he says for the second time that night. I return the greeting. He holds out his hand, and I slowly place mine within its warm confines. His hands are hard and soft at the same time, rough and gentle. And I find myself wondering what that same skin would feel like, stroking my….

"Kevin," he says, his voice flowing over me like a dense fog. I look up into his eyes and find myself becoming lost in their topaz depths. I notice that he is looking at me expectantly, still holding my hand. Oh, he wants to know my name! Well, duh! "Angela," I reply. His thumb is stroking the skin on my hand.

"But, my friends call me Angel." He lowers his head and raises his eyes, his hair falling down over one of them, a move that melts me every time. "Are you?" he asks, his voice rumbling from deep within. I detect a hint of a smile in his voice, even though I can't see his mouth from this angle.

I look into the mirror and see him watching my face. I smile, my dimples forming deep crevices next to my full lips. I'm learning the rules to this game as I go along, so I raise my eyebrow suggestively and chose my words carefully. "Well," I say, allowing my voice to drop a few notes to a seductive purr, "let me take you to heaven, and you tell me."

He throws his head back, and a deep, throaty laugh reaches my ears. My eyes fall on a spot on his throat, just above his Adam's apple, and I want nothing more in that space in time than to lean over and caress it with my tongue. Without thinking, I lick my lips instead and I hear him groan softly. That's when I realize that he's been staring at them.

My tongue snakes out again and traces the contours of my mouth, slower than a snail crossing the highway. I hear his breath catch in his throat, and I decide that there are no rules here - no wrongs, only something very right. Finally, I remove my hand from his and grab the bartender's pen and a napkin. I write three digits on the thin paper, down my shot of tequila, and slam the glass down on the bar.

I know he's watching me intently as I stand, even though I don't look at him. I lean down and whisper in his ear, "finish your beer. Tell your friends you'll see them in the morning. Then, see if you can find your way to heaven." I don't look back as I leave the bar.

I enter the elevator and turn, pushing the button for my floor. As the doors close, I think I see a glimpse of golden blonde hair flying out the door of the bar. I check my reflection in the shiny metal panel next to the elevator door. Within seconds, the bell rings and the doors are opening. Turning, I make my way down the hall to my room.

I'm surprised, but not shocked, to see him leaning against the doorframe, breathing heavily. He looks up as I approach, his breath ragged as he speaks. "I win," he says. I smile. "Didn't know we were having a race," I reply. He laughs again. "I couldn't let you get away," he says. As I slide the keycard through and wait for the green light, I speak. "I wouldn't have gone away."

Without my asking, he follows me into my room and closes the door softly. I turn to him and notice that he's leaning against it, as if he's about to collapse. "Rough day?" I ask, walking over and putting my hand on the wall next to his shoulder. Fortunately for me, he's slumped down against the door, making it easier to be eye level with him.

He laughs. That sound is slowly becoming music to my ears. Taking a few deep breaths, he nods and says, "yeah." I reach out and brush a slightly damp tendril of hair from his cheek. The touch is electric. He grabs my hand and pulls it to his chest.

I feel his heart pounding under a mountain of muscle, the delicate tissue beating under hot, hard steel. I think of another place I wouldn't mind putting my tongue. His hand is still covering mine as I look up into his eyes again. The unspoken question is there. I answer it, leaning forward and placing my lips to his. His tongue invades my mouth and I respond by allowing him to claim it.

His other hand comes off the door and wraps around my waist, pulling me closer. He spreads his feet apart even further, bringing himself lower and nestling my body between his thighs. I now know the true meaning of being caught between a rock and a hard place. Instinctively, my back arches and I press myself harder against him, moving my fingers under his hand so that I am caressing every inch of his massive chest.

He releases my hand and moves his to my chest, mirroring my movements perfectly. I groan as his fingers brush across the hardened nub of nerve endings that are now on fire. I do the same to him, and feel his groan deep with my mouth. Silently, I step back and grasp his hand, pulling him from the door and leading him to the bed.

Gently, I push him down so that he's sitting on the edge. Standing a few feet away, I slowly pull my shirt over my head and drop it to the floor, following that up with my skirt falling to a puddle around my ankles. I see him stare appreciatively at the black silk and lace covering my body. I kick my skirt aside and remove my shoes, standing there, waiting for something from him.

He reaches for me and pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my waist and nuzzling my stomach with his chin. His beard tickles and I giggle softly. My laughter quickly turns to a moan as his tongue traces the slightly reddened skin. I feel his hands slide up my back and his fingers work their magic on the black lace garment covering my chest. He removes it swiftly, burying his face in the space between my breasts.

His tongue is tracing white-hot trails on the skin there, his breath following every moist marking, making me burn even more. My fingers find their way into his silken hair, entwining in the strands and pulling back slightly. I lean down and search his eyes, not knowing what I hope to find there, just that it is still eluding me.

He reaches up and pulls me down on top of his chest, leaning back on the bed. His hands grasp my hips as his lips find mine again and begin devouring them, as if they were ripe strawberries and he hadn't eaten in days. We feed off each other for what seems an eternity, before he pulls his head to the side and stares at me.

Rolling over, I lay on my side next to him and begin to unbutton his shirt with one hand. He slides one arm underneath me, his hand caressing my back as I expose the object of my current desire. As soon as his shirt is open, I push back the fabric and slowly, softly rake my nails down the center of his chest, leaving a trail of slightly pink lines.

He moans, which I take as a good sign, so I continue my artwork. The tips of my nails cross over one very pebbly nipple and his back arches off the bed. Smiling, I realize that I have found one of those spots that could send him straight to the brink. Leaning down, I let the tip of my tongue peek out between my lips and flick it ever so softly over the hot flesh.

I marvel at the contrast between the darkening brown skin of his nipple and the light, wet pinkness of my tongue. I wrap my lips around it and suck briefly before grasping it with my teeth and pulling back. I feel his hand tighten on my hip. I move to the other side of this great expanse of muscle and flesh and begin the same treatment there. A single word escapes his lips.

"Please." In my head, I smile. His pleading is the sweetest sound my ears have ever heard. "Tell me," I say. "Tell me what you want." He doesn't speak. Instead, he takes my hand in his once again, and guides it lower, past his chest, over his stomach, which is quivering slightly. Finally, I feel the roughness of denim beneath my hand, and he pushes it down slightly.

I thank god, or Allah, or Eros, or whomever is in charge of this wonderful dream come true for the thick cotton material which is protecting my skin from the molten heat rising from beneath it. However, common sense has taken its leave, and I slowly move down to the floor between his legs and unfasten the unholy obstacle.

A momentary rush of blood to his brain reminds him that I cannot complete this task without some assistance from him. Carefully, he stands over me and pushes his jeans down as far as he can reach. He sits back down and I help him remove his shoes and jeans. Somehow, his shirt has joined the ever-growing pile of clothing on the floor.

My brain begins a debate with itself. There is a part of me that wants nothing more than to tease this man mercilessly, to run my fingers, my tongue, everything I can move up and down the warm flesh of his inner thighs. However, the other part of me, the part that I have grown to love over the years, takes over and my mouth finds its way to his throbbing erection.

The way a peasant would kiss the Pope's ring, I gently place my lips to the tip of his cock, kissing it softly. A sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, rings out from above and I know that I have hit pay dirt. I open my mouth as wide as I can, and slowly allow his manhood entrance. I take as much as I can into the recesses of my mouth, wrapping my hand around the remainder of the silken steel and begin to suck and stroke slowly. He moans, something resembling my name, and his hands gently work their way into my hair, caressing my scalp as I love his cock with all my might.

My body is on fire, my mouth is stretched to impossible limits, and all I can think about is drinking every drop of his milky fluid, anticipating the moment when the dam bursts deep within him and he floods my mouth, my body, my soul. Fortunately, I do not have to wait long, as the combination of my tongue, lips and hand send him over the edge, his hands clasping my hair tightly, teeth clenched, attempting to soften his scream.

He sits up on the edge of the bed and grabs my hands, pulling me to my feet rather quickly. I lose my balance and fall into him, his arms wrapping around my waist to steady me. He looks down at me, and I am reminded of bonfires. His eyes are smoldering, and I swear I can feel the heat emanating from them. He leans down and I am treated to the best damn kiss in the history of lip locks, as he turns me around and pushes me down onto the spot he had occupied a few minutes earlier.

The blanket is still warm from his body, and I allow that heat to soak through me as he begins to create a new heat. He grabs a pillow from the bed and places it on the floor. He kneels down and runs his hands up the outside of my legs. I prop myself up so that I can watch what he's doing. His fingers trace the edge of my lace panties, then hook themselves in the band and pull them down slowly. His hands run up the outside of my thighs again, then slide over the skin near my hips until they are resting on the inside of my thighs.

My legs are over his shoulders - how they got there, I have no clue. My existence is reduced to his body touching mine. I feel the tip of one long finger stretch out and tickle the wet folds between my legs. I squirm, as much in anticipation as from touch itself. From the other side, another finger joins the first and I can feel him spreading that delicate tissue apart.

When I feel his tongue caress the burning nub nestled there, my existence reduces itself again, until the only thing in this world is the feel of his tongue and lips between my legs. It's my turn to be the needy one now. My body defies my brain, and it begins to writhe beneath his touch. He raises me to give himself better access, and I am rewarded for my cooperation with his tongue plunging into the deepest part of my body, causing me to make sounds that were halfway between human and animal.

[ I arch up into his mouth, grasping his hair to pull him closer, as if my whole existence depends on the sweet release I feel building inside me. He senses this as well, and his ministrations continue, his pace quickening, until I break completely, my body shattering from the impact. I call out his name amongst my incoherent mumblings. He continues to stroke the soft skin of my thighs, bringing me back down from my orbit.

He stands, then reaches down and scoops me into his huge arms, laying me down on the pillows. His large frame is beside me, and his hands continue their exploration of my body, feeling every dip and curve, every pore, every crevice. His large hands make my breasts disappear, a master of illusion. My hands decide to go on a mission of their own, seeking out his hot, hard cock again.

We both perform our own slight of hand until neither can take it any more, and I look into his eyes, the need apparent in both of us. It's my turn to speak. "Please." he does not question, no need to ask what I am seeking. Hovering above me, I feel him prepare the final leg of our journey. He enters me, stretching me beyond the normal limits. I gasp, halfway through, and he stops.

Seeking out my eyes, he questions me. I urge him to continue, assuring him that the pain is far less than the pleasure. And then, without hesitation, he's in. the core of our beings are completely joined, and we savor the moment before moving on. And move he does. Long, slow strokes, pulling out to the tip before sinking back in, swiftly stroking every inch of my insides. I swear I can feel the top of my head rising and falling - he fills me that much. Up to this point, I could only describe his movements as gentle, as if he was afraid I would break. But, my body is screaming again, and I tell him to move faster, harder. All semblance of gentleness flies out the window as he complies with my request, pounding away like a jackhammer, breaking apart every fiber of my being.

The line between pleasure and pain, sanity and lunacy, right and wrong becomes so blurred that the only thing I see is his face above me, his eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip grasped firmly between his teeth. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down as I pry his lips apart and soothe the bruised skin there with my tongue. He allows me entrance into his mouth, and I can taste myself there. He groans as his tongue invades me, and we battle for control. I relinquish first and I swear I feel him smiling.

My legs tighten their grip on his waist, drawing him closer, deeper. I feel the butterflies in my stomach breaking apart into a million bursts of light. I moan as they travel throughout my body, reaching the outer limits. His eyes shoot open and I know that he is feeling the same. As the fire ignites, and the volcanoes within erupt, I feel his molten hot lava fill me.

He collapses on top of me, then gently rolls to the side, reaching for me as if he were drowning and I was the only thing that could keep him afloat. After a few moments of waiting for our senses to return from their unscheduled leave, he laughs softly. I look into his eyes, wanting to know what humor he had found. He kisses the skin between my eyebrows and says, "so that's what heaven looks like!" And then, we both fall into a deep sleep.

And that's how it always ends. When I wake in the morning, my dream is always fresh in my mind, as my body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and a particular dampness is present between my legs. But, this morning, when I wake from my ever-present dream, something is different. I open my eyes and look around. I'm not in my bed at home. My surroundings are unfamiliar. And there is someone else in this bed.

I blink my eyes a few times, trying to wake up from my dream. Then, I realize that it wasn't a dream. Turning, I see him lying there next to me, the object of my desire for as long as I have know what desire was. His eyes blink open, and I find myself gazing into those hazy orbs as he leans down and places a soft kiss on my lips. The gates of heaven swing open, and the most powerful voice I have ever heard whispers, "good morning, Angel." And, once again, I thank god, Allah, Eros, or whatever godlike being is in charge for making dreams come true.