Morning Breath

By Greg Doolan

Sunlight spilled through the window, warming both the room and the two bodies stretched out on the bed. Simon had been awake for some time watching Miranda as she slept. He had meant to stay awake all night but woke with a start just before dawn, thinking for one dreadful moment last night must have all been a dream. Yet there she was in Simon’s bed, pale and naked in the soft blue light of the pre-dawn.

Simon had fallen for Miranda the moment he saw her, walking across the expanse of the university’s manicured quadrangle. It had taken months for Simon to work up the courage to ask her out, opting for a ‘safety in numbers’ approach and one day included Miranda in a group of regular student drinkers he often caught up with after lectures. While they hadn’t exactly hit it off, Simon knew there was something there and he had spent the next several months trying to win her over.

So had last night just been another lust-filled dream – laughing over dinner, dancing to Barry White, then long slow kissing which fumbled and stumbled its way to Simon’s bed – well, that would have almost been too much to bear.

“Miranda bloody Kirk,” Simon whispered to himself, not for the first time that morning.

They had snuggled close and warm afterwards, laughing and talking softly – the wonder of how everything had just changed still fresh and new.. Simon had been talking and making plans when he noticed Miranda’s breathing had slowed and her soft regular murmurs acknowledging his words had started to grow softer and more infrequent. And then she was asleep.

“Stay wake. Make every minute count,” he had told himself, still stunned Miranda was in his bed… with him.

Simon had watched the sun creep up the bed and crawl over Miranda’s thighs and hips, and then on to the soft, white flesh of her belly. “Miranda bloody Kirk,” Simon murmured again in awe, as the sunlight splashed across her breasts, highlighting the superfine hair on her skin.

They were too fine to touch; at least not without disturbing Miranda. But on an impulse Simon drew a breath, pursed his lips and exhaled a slow, gentle stream. Where the air brushed Miranda, her skin tightened and goose-pimpled, causing the tiny hairs to stand erect. Simon almost giggled at the reaction.

He blew again, this time caressing her one of her nipples, which responded by puckering up, hard and pink. Miranda stirred softly and let out a sleepy noise before settling. Simon waited a few minutes before drawing another breath and blowing. Again Miranda’s nipple puckered.

“You do know I can feel what you are doing, don’t you?” Miranda said. Her eyes were closed, but her serious tone froze the smile on Simon’s face.

“Er, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, Miranda.” The sun continued its slow passage across the bed.

“You know I didn’t tell you to stop either, right?”