My skin burns and crawls these days. At random moments, I will get a chill down my spine as the memories float into my awareness.
I need to submit to him.
I need to be bent and taken.
I need to feel the sting of his hands, the nip of his teeth.
I need to see the intensity of his eyes.
I need to hear the low growl in his voice.
I need to give in to him and give him everything.
Then, I need him to soothe me and make me whole again.
this is my skeleton
this is the skin it’s in
that is, according to light
and gravity
i’ll take off my disguise
the mask you met me in
‘cuz i got something
for you to see
Shameless ~Ani Difranco
I move through this world differently now. I smile more. I laugh louder. I walk quicker and with more purpose even when I have none. My posture is upright and confident. I am happy, and it shows.
I feel that happiness right down to my bones. I look down at my body that is the same body as before with the same imperfections, and I revel in it and its flaws. My hips move to greet him with a renewed enthusiasm. I admire the way my legs part for him. I never noticed their grace before. I suddenly feel more like me than I ever have before.
I open myself up to him more, and I have discovered that I am more comfortable with my need to submit and have my Love do things that I once thought unthinkable. It feels freeing to be in this place, to be in my own skin. I love the way this feels.
I haven’t been around much. It wasn’t by choice really. Part of my new freedom also meant a lot of sacrifices—one of them being internet service. I do not use a home phone, so dial up was out of the question too.
Well, I am back up and running with far too many stories to tell. I will pick a few soon, but all I have to say for now is thank God for inexpensive air travel.
Three years ago I started this blog. Yeah, don’t go looking in the archives for that first year. It isn’t there. It was removed a while back for many reasons, mostly because those posts didn’t make sense in my life anymore. I said what I had to say, and it helped…or something like that.
When I began this blog those three long years ago, I was very confused and very unhappy. I had set out on a path, but I was unsure of the destination. Only one thing was clear, my marriage was on the brink. My life was falling apart, and I needed to find a way to put the pieces back together. That was the birth of this blog. Of course, I focused on my burgeoning sexuality. As I have said many times, those experiences were just band-aids on flesh wounds. They only masked the bigger problems, but I was still too afraid to confront the real issues at hand. I didn’t have the courage to move forward in my marriage or just plain end it. At least, not yet.
Then, I met him. I didn’t want to love him. I pushed him away. I didn’t want it to be real emotions. My attempts to not feel anything for him were complete and utter failures. The pieces changed shape. It became about putting together this love affair. I learned a lot about myself during this time. My journey led me to a safe place to explore what I truly wanted in a relationship. It also led me heal myself and the wounds caused by my marriage. It gave me the courage to find a way to end my marriage once and for all. Now, I say this, and I must add a caveat. It isn’t the relationship with him that showed me that my marriage was bad. It wasn’t the relationship that healed me. I did that. I healed myself. I found the courage inside of myself. But, I did it all with his love and support. I felt nurtured and loved. Regardless of my decision to stay or leave, my love would have respected it because it would have been my decision.
Now, I sit here wondering what to do at this point as I approach my fourth year. I thought about ending the blog. Its purpose seemed fulfilled. I have seen many sex blogs come and go. Few make it this long that is for sure.
I thought about changing the title because it no longer seems to fit. I am now whole. Complete. The pieces have been found and have been put back together. All of the extra pieces have a home too.
But, I won’t do either. I won’t end this, and I won’t change it. It is what it is—a testament to my growth as a person and a beautiful love story. The pieces are just different. It is more about starting over, about rebuilding, and of course, a whole lot of hot, explicit sex.
My marriage has ended, but now I sit and wait for moving day. It will approach soon, but I am growing restless. Time is moving too slowly. I feel free inside. But, on the outside I am not. I still have to be discreet about my text messages and phone calls. I still have to hide my love away from the world. I want out, and I want it now.
Sitting on the cusp of my new life, I waiver between the sweetest desires and the roughest, teeth gritting need. I need to hold him again. And, soon.
Apparently, I am too happy to write. Good things will come to those who wait, and I have waited a very long time. Soon, I will write something, anything.
I promise.
We craved intimacy in all of its forms. We simply wanted to feel everything the other had to offer.
I had never had anal sex face to face before. The angle never worked. Usually, anal came at the end of heated play. I would beg like a bitch in heat to feel the searing heat of a cock in my ass.
This time was different. We had played for hours before hand. Now, the animal side had been sated, and we wanted to slow down. We wanted to enjoy being close.
Hovering above me, his cock nudged against my ass. It sent a shiver through me, and I simply needed to feel him in me. I needed the heat that could only be felt as his cock pushed into my ass. We adjusted for the angle, and slowly and deliberately, he slid into me. Every nerve in my body tingled and hummed. Quietly, he kissed me and looked into my eyes. My hips rose to meet him. We moved not like animals but like the swaying of the branches. Each achingly long stroke of his cock in me warmed my heart. My breath rose and fell with the slow thrusting of his cock.
The warmth of his skin pressed against me. His hands tangled into my hair. I wrapped my arms around his back. I wanted him closer than ever. If I could open myself up in that moment, I would have wrapped him up in me. Our bodies floated like this under the veil of our love and pleasure. And, like a wave an orgasm struck without our bodies quickening. I rolled under him as I felt his heat spill inside of me. I felt so complete and loved in that moment.
My mind works a bit like a broken record these days. It gets stuck on one thought, and it continues to loop through it again and again. My tiny world of obsession.
For some reason, this one thought…no matter how I want to get rid of it…is the only fantasy floating my masturbatory boat right now. And yet, it makes sense to me, though it may not to others because there is always another girl there. But, it isn’t about the girl at all. It isn’t about the threesome at all. Yet, she has to be there to serve my visual needs.
I imagine myself straddling her face. I have no idea what she looks like, and it doesn’t matter. She is merely a device. No more or less attractive than a vibrator, but equally stimulating. As her tongue and mouth perform their ministrations, I am kept aroused but not orgasmic.
Kept in this state, I admire my love as he slides his cock into her. This is what I want to see. It is not about my attraction to this woman or my desire to have a threesome. It is about this. It is about watching his cock move fluidly inside of her. It is about a vantage point that I cannot have when I am his vessel. I watch as her labia move against him, gently pushing in as he enters her or clinging to his cock as he moves out.
I reach down to pull her lips apart to get a clearer view, occasionally stroking or licking her clit. I want to watch her cunt clench around his cock as she cums. It isn’t her pleasure that I want to see. It is his. I want to see his face change. Watch it soften then scrunch in pleasure. I want to kiss him as he fucks her, deeply and passionately. I want to taste his mouth. I want to touch his skin as he fucks her. It is through watching him that I get my pleasure. As his pleasure builds, I want him to pull out of her and spill his cum across her clit and cunt. I want to see it painted across her.
It is that final image, the tiny pearls of cum across her pink cunt that gets me off. It is his pleasure that excites me and knowing that he left it for me to taste and devour.
That is the vision that continually gets me off. That is the vision that is sustaining me while I wait for the next time I will get to see and touch him. That is the vision that lulls me to sleep at night.
I have been distracted lately. Not in a good way. My writing has been put on a back burner, even my regular journal writing that I don’t let anyone read. All of it. On hold. And, that makes me sad. Writing in all of its forms is a good outlet for me. It is usually a stress reliever, which is why my lack of writing is so astonishing to me. After all, I am super stressed lately.
Well, that is water under the bridge. I will make it more of a priority. So, I will pick up writing about our last visit. I started here.
I am desperate for his touch.
I need a finger trailing down my spine.
I need to feel his breath against my cheek as he moves in closer.
I need to feel the warmth and silkiness of his skin against my own again.
I need to feel the tightness of his arms around me and the rise and fall of his breath.
I need to feel his heart beating against my chest.
