Tag Archives: love

Shaving

You held the razor with confidence.  Confidence borne from muscle memory; the constant grooming ritual you have engaged in since you stood on the doorstep of manhood.

I watched from my seat on the toilet lid, my hair wet from the shower and still wrapped in a towel because my attention was fixed on watching you shave.

My eyes followed the razor’s path across your cheek, from your neckline over the curve of your jaw – a curve my fingers and lips have traced a hundred times.  Your jawbone peeked out from behind the foamy white shaving cream and my fingers longed to touch.

You turned to look at me and I felt the heat of embarrassment engulf me.  A red shame from the fact I got momentarily lost in a memory and you caught me.

I was remembering my father going through the same motions.  Feeling a familiar warmth inside me – only this time absent girlish innocence.  Where in the past I felt the warm safety of my father’s presence, now my skin tingled with liquid honey; the sensual heat that signaled yearning for my lover.

It was both really.  Staring at the lines of your naked body, hearing the scratching of the razor over your neck, I was both sensual woman and little girl.  Lover and baby.  My independent nature disapproving of the way my heart craved the sexually charged security of a daddy figure.  My secret desire peeking out from behind ribbons and bows.

You smiled at me, maybe even asked me what I was staring at.  I don’t remember now.  I just remember looking away, hiding my eyes and all the emotions they contained.  I busied my hands, pulling my hair out of the towel and drying my hair while sneaking furtive glances at you.

I could not hide for long.  My fascination with watching you rake the razor over your face took control of me.  The sheer intimacy of being there with you, of watching you stand naked in front of the mirror and shave your face consumed me.

You did not see the moisture shining in my eyes.  You were focused on your chore, something you likely viewed as a mundane task of manhood.  But to me it was a moment as intimate as any we have shared between the sheets.  It was tender, cozy, arousing and poignant.  It was indelible.  Burned into my memory forever – cleaning up after one of our messy outdoor adventures and stealing a cherished moment with the man I love.

I often wonder how many of those moments we have left.   As the days tick away and the choices, events and opportunities pass us by, I wonder if they will continue.

I hope yet I doubt.  I feel protected in one moment and utterly exposed in another.  I am a proud woman – yet sometimes I feel as though I must beg.  I ask myself why I keep fighting.  What is the reason I stay when you lie – when I feel insignificant and overlooked? Am I just another wet pussy in your bed or is there something about ME that fills you with longing too?

Why do I keep playing the hand when all the cards on the table seem to say I should fold?

And then I think about cherished moments like these.  I think about the times when I could feel your words even when you would not say them.  I try to tell myself it is not all a figment of my imagination.  That somewhere inside of you is an echoing refrain of the feelings inside of me.  I try to hold fast to my faith but it can be a slippery fish sometimes, especially in the cold absence of reassurance.  But that is the true test of faith, isn’t it?

So I hold on to what I can.  I hold on tight to the cherished moments.  I seek big faith in small moments.  Like watching you shave.

 

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Lioness

RomanHoliday-mouth

I have pushed boundaries for you.

Driven myself like a hostage way beyond my comfort zones to be with you.

Faced down inner demons who would deny my passage to the safe circle of your arms.

I have fought my doubts, wrestled my anxiety, laid siege to my crazy, hyperanalytical brain.

I have accepted circumstances.

Forgiven.

Listened.

Said too much. Not said enough. Played it cool.

Stuffed down my feelings.

Denied the truth in my heart.

I have been wounded.  I have bled tears.

I have walked away only to run back to you.

I have changed my way of being not to please you, but as a result of my experience knowing you.

And you have broken similar ground with me.

You keep your thoughts locked inside that quiet mind.  Your voice is found in action. Or inaction.

Your will stands toe to toe with mine. Unyielding. Both of us wanting something.

Not entirely sure what that something is.  But unable to let go until we find out.

At least, I’m unable to let go.  Are you?

I have stopped hiding. Behind the cool girl facade and ambivalent responses.  I am no longer hiding behind my cynicism, my past or my fears.

I have removed my mask.

Do you have the courage to step out from behind your mask?

Do you have the courage to love me completely? Unabashedly? Fearlessly?

I believe you do. I hope you try.

You will not find a controlling thumb once you let the defenses around your heart down for me.

You will find freedom. Adventure. Sanctuary.  Loyalty that has no rival.

But it takes a tremendous leap of faith.

Does the Lion himself possess the courage to place his hand inside the mouth of the Lioness?

If you do not, then walk away.

If you can not love me as I do, every bit my equal, then you must let go.  Set me free so I can find my pride.

For I have no use for a kitten beside me.

I need a Lion.

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Straight Line

I don’t give a damn who knows it.  I don’t care for a second if they disapprove of my words.  They can all go take a flying leap – I didn’t ask for their fucking opinions anyway.

I pay no heed to the consequences.  “To hell with it all!” I cry out, fist in the air, middle finger a straight line of defiance pointing directly up at God himself.  Fuck him too, he takes Himself way too seriously – another garden variety Dominant.

I stand tall and speak because I need you to know without a doubt that no one has ever done to me what you have.  You have breathed life into me, sucked it out, and breathed it back in again.

So screw the cynics.  Tell the nonbelievers to kiss my firm, white ass.  There is always a chance we will go down in fabulous flames.  But there is a better chance that we will rise up, love hard, and be legendary.

I’m not afraid that they will find out.  That someone will read these words and some secret will be revealed.  It doesn’t matter.

I don’t give a goddamn who knows it.

I love you.

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A Proximate Beginning

Bridge

You saw fit to share our origin tale.  Now I sit, bathed in blue glow with fingers to keys, to tell my side of the story.

Your digital cry was too distinct; too familiar.  In your words I felt my own heart, its beat of loneliness echoed in yours.  From your digital form I caught the faint stench of fear and downfall from grace.  And recognized that scent as my own.

The dance began, our steps falling so easily into rhythm it felt as if we had always shared the dance floor.

We kept making rules, and promptly breaking them.  We set boundaries then picked them up and moved them at will because even in our fragile, broken state, we both knew this was too rare and beautiful to squander.

Building up history, peeling away layers.  Facing fears, insecurities, accomplishments, and celebrations together.  We became twin arches supporting the bridge of emotion rapidly growing between us.

Until one of those arches gave way.

Until it vanished, leaving its twin collapsing under the weight.

Mourning.

And then the unthinkable happened.  I heard a different, yet familiar, digital cry.  And once again I answered. How could I not? Not a day had passed since the loss of my twin arch when I didn’t miss you with every part of my soul.

And so the dance began anew.  Tentative, delicate, deliberate.  We stepped gently at first, then more brisk; our tender confidence coaxing more strident rhythms from our feet.

Until you kissed me.

Until the incorrigible conflagration between us consumed us both.

We watered the words with our own salty fluids, nurturing them with skillful allusions until they grew so round and full we could not ignore them.  Like bright daffodils raising their faces to the spring sun, they would not be denied any longer.

I. Love. You.

In those first few months together we found freedom in each other.  Today, we find new freedoms, new moments, perfect, profound subplots in each other.  Our journey has only just started.

I don’t know what lies unwritten in the amazing, unfathomable story of us.  I don’t know how many chapters we can author together or what roles we play in the tale.

But I know this:  each word, paragraph, and chapter with you is a gift.  A gift I am eternally and profoundly grateful for.

 

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Worry Box

I filled the box with my concerns.  Each written carefully on neatly lined paper.  My fears, my anxieties, my worries.  Spelled out before me in black letters.

I put them in the Worry Box and invited you to put yours there too.

Then we closed the Box and ran away together.

We rode 900 miles to escape our Worries.

But mine were never farther than the back pocket of my jeans, a denim cage that stretched taut across my ass as I straddled the seat of your motorcycle.  My Worries followed me – dogged every step of my foot through the mossy, tree-lined paradise we explored together.

I forgot them often – transported as I was by your smile, the sunshine on my face, and the laughter we shared.  The playful exchange of jokes, gentle barbs and tender kisses all provided me respite from those Worries.

But they were never really forgotten.

They would escape their cage and climb upon my shoulder, whispering in my ear as the landscape blurred past.  As the bike leaned through curves, they would dig in – holding fast to me and making sure they did not fall to the roadway as I desperately wished they would.

Fucking tenacious Worries.

You and I shared some beautiful moments over those three days.  Tranquility, companionship, intimacy.  I fearlessly drove my tongue into your most intimate spaces.  I savored your taste and smell, drinking you in and memorizing each moment. The gentle pressure of your hand reaching back to stroke my knee while riding.  The way your face looked bathed in glow from the campfire.  Watching you laugh and try not to choke on a mouthful of molten marshmallow and chocolate.  The sweep of your lips across my forehead as I rested in my snuggle spot.

In the back of my mind the refrain played over and over, “I will miss this.”

I said nothing but the words were there – gushed  across sheets, reflected in my eyes as I gazed up at you from my knees.  Clinging to the fingers that reached over as we walked and wound through yours.  I love you. Of that, there is no doubt.

In the shadow of that love I sense the pain coming at me.  Like a sharp S-curve that will tilt my world.  I don’t know how to avoid it.  I can’t seem to find a way to lessen the sting.  For all the armor I wear, I know it cannot protect me from it.  I am going to feel it.  Deep and hard.

And there is no way a box full of paper is going to save me.

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Fourth Wall

I should not have done it.

I should not have put the envelope in the mail.

I broke through the Fourth Wall.

With a sledge hammer made of paper and postage.

You don’t want to hear from me.

You don’t want to know I am still here,

Still breathing and fighting for my life.

Fighting to write my story.

But I am.

Were you angry? Surprised?

Uncomfortable when you found it in your office mail?

Did you know it was from me?

Recognize me in the few words scrawled inside?

Did you guess or did you know?

Deep inside your gut.

Like a visit from beyond the grave.

Did you smile?

Did you understand the meaning of my gesture?

Not to haunt, not to vex.

But simply to acknowledge your success?

I tried to sit on the pride.

I stuffed it into a suitcase and sat upon it.

But it would not be silent.

It screamed to be heard.

It howled for freedom.

How could I keep it locked inside?

Such an accomplishment.

A goal you set finally coming to fruition.

How could I not want to congratulate you?

I tried to keep it to myself.

But that envelope found its way into my grocery bag.

And into that mailbox.

And into your hands.

I know I broke the rules.

I know I was not supposed to cross the Fourth Wall.

But…

I just had to tell you.

How proud I am of you.

Happy for your success.

I’m breaking out the mortar and bricks.

And fixing the hole in that Wall.

This time, I will stay on my side.

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Five Men

I was at the market tonight, standing in the alcohol aisle clutching my little basket of chicken breast and whole wheat bread.  I was staring at a bottle of Macallan 12 year.  I wondered…if I bought it and showed up one night on your doorstep with that bottle, an aged olive branch in my hand…would you invite me in? Would you pour us a drink? Would we sit together awkward at first, then rediscovering that easy rhythm we once shared? Would you be glad to see me? Would we talk into the wee hours, sipping our drinks and hoping the night lasted long enough for a conversation that never truly had an end?

***

I checked my email seven times today.  Hoping to hear from you and being disappointed seven times.  This was not how I pictured this going.  This feels like a recurring nightmare –  it hurts like a pain in my past.   Are you going to be the next in line to try to bring me to my knees? Are you going to say that I brought you to yours?  If I showed up in Ontario, my heart wide open for you to see, would you tell me I was too late? Would you shake your head and tell me to turn around and go home? Would you take me in your arms and kiss me like you’ve always said you would? Was this all just a terrible illusion or was the love we believed in for the last 18 months real?

***

I reached out to you today about a trivial thing, a mere matter of logistics.  You struck like a viper, injecting your poison straight from your soul and into my heart.  How can it be possible that I knew you intimately for 17 years and never saw what a petty, vindictive little child you can be?  I reacted in anger, my buttons perfectly pushed.  And yet now, in the chill of the night, I see your pain.  I feel the pain you still carry – fresh as it was the day I flayed your heart open by saying yes to your question. But you don’t get to punish me for that any longer.  You don’t get to bully me or control me ever again.  You say I wasted ten grand and gained nothing more than what you were offering two years ago.  But the truth is, I spent what I needed to buy my freedom.  I did what was best for me and my children.  I stood up to you and refused to let you bully me.  I learned to fight and built up the stamina I need to go as many rounds as it takes to keep you in your corner.  This is my life now so…would you please fuck off?

***

You thought my Christmas present was over the top.  And to some people’s perspectives, I agree it looks that way.  But your gift was as much a present to me as it was to you.  Yes, I gave you the Mancala set.  With 48 stones, lovingly and thoughtfully, purposefully and intentionally picked for you.  Yes, I spent about 10 hours total time compiling a 20 page list detailing each stone and its physical and metaphysical properties.  But that part of the gift was for my benefit, not yours.  It brought me in touch with my hopes and dreams, and made me acknowledge my unnamed fears.  It gave shape, color, texture, and a name for the feeling I have for you.  It helped me reignite my love of the Earth and brought me back to my Mother’s bosom.  That was for MY benefit, Slappy.  While yes, the gesture was absolutely one of the most tender love, it was directed at both of us – not just you.  So don’t get too blown over backwards by it.  It was just a Mancala set. 😉

***

You are the faceless, nameless man of my future. Would you please approach me with a degree of intelligence, a hint of compassion, more than a little patience?  Would you be forgiving when I am socially awkward? Would you be honest with me, give me real human interaction, and drop this Game-Face Bullshit game everyone seems to play? Would you please fuck me hard enough to make me cum from my head to my toes? I hope you and I mesh well.  I hope we treat each other like a gift.  I hope we behave like a couple of conspiratorial partners in crime. Would you be the greatest adventure of my life and please, may I be yours?  I hope so.  I hope we never stop having fun together – even if there are rough times in between.  I don’t know it right now, but some day I will look at this and see your face, maybe even reach across the couch and take your hand.  I will read these words and know I was talking about you.  I just want to say: I love you.

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I stand alone

Author’s Note:  This is one of the rare times when the words you read here are are not fiction.  There is nothing sexy or erotic about what I am going to reveal here.  Consider it a glimpse behind the veil.

Today, for the first time since I was 22, I stand alone.

As of 9:50 a.m. today, I am officially a divorced woman.

I came home tonight to an empty apartment – a homecoming that I managed to put off several hours with mindless retail therapy in the name of Jolly Old Saint Nicholas.

Today, I did not turn to Kik, to text messages, to the countless digital distractions that have filled my days since I moved out of my home.  Today I spent the day holding it all in – the pain, the sorrow, the loss, the regret, the animosity, the anger.  At one point during the day, a well-meaning coworker asked me if I was alright? His question nearly broke my tenuous composure.

No.

I am NOT okay.

None of this is okay.

It isn’t just the divorce.  Yes, it is true I held my breath in a courtroom today, avoiding eye contact with a judicial assistant as I silently prayed the Judge saw the desperation in my ex’s last-ditch attempt to reduce child support.  I silently prayed that I would find the well-spring of calm within that would help me get through this terrible day.  I prayed for strength, hoping that the strength so many people claim to see in me would not fail me in my moment of need.

But today was a final reckoning in many ways.

There has been a couple of years of seismic change in my life.  I have made countless choices that have had expected, and unexpected, consequences.  I have leaned on people, digital strangers who became friends, lovers, and ghosts.  I have fled my sorrow hiding from my feelings in the arms of men – seeking distraction from my pain in frivolity.

I have lost. Husbands, families, circles of love that I thought would always be there embracing me.  I have shattered more than just my own dreams for the future.  I have taken away dreams from those who are too young to know what they have lost.

I have lost friends whose wisdom and humor, whose perspective and support kept me going when I felt I could not fight any longer.  I have lost the dream of someone – the dream of a future I dared to long for, but was not courageous enough to fight for.  Love I once held in my heart for others.

I have lost love.  Love from people who once called me family. Love from people who yearned to call me their Lover.  Love from those who said their love for me would never end.

There are regrets.  I can see clearly the pain my journey has caused others.  As this Phoenix has burned, so has she burned those who stood too close to her.

I can only pray that now the burning is over.  With each dawn that brightens my bedroom, I hope beyond all other that the burning time is over and today is the day I will rise from the ashes.

Today, for the first time since I was 22, I stand alone.

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Killingsworth

I drove south on the freeway today, my mind turning to you as I passed it.  The Killingsworth Exit.  The exit that once led me to your door.

There was a time when driving past that exit would require a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel to keep the tears at bay.  Now, there is no extraordinary grip required.  There was a time when the wounds were fresh, still bleeding freely and refusing to heal. They are but scars now.  The faint lines across my soul where it was once torn. 

There was a time when the mere act of passing the exit would send me reeling backward in time; back to stolen moments spent with you – laughing, sharing music, doing that anticipatory little dance in the kitchen before our mouths invariably met, melded and yielded all the sensual fruits we craved. 

They were stolen moments.  As surely as if we had snatched them from the shelf of the local convenience mart and furtively shoved them in our pockets, those days and nights together were purloined goods.  They were moments that never should have been ours in the first place.  Maybe that is why they felt so thrilling, tasted so unbelievably sweet.  Maybe that is why there was such an empty hole left behind when they were gone. 

I think about you from time to time.  When I do, I feel no anger or bitterness swelling up inside me.  I no longer feel the stabbing pain in my gut as the thought pierces me over and over:  Why?

Now, when my thoughts turn to you they are simple.  Are you happy?  Do you spend your weekends with your daughter as you dreamed?  Do you thrive in your job and have you set roots down in your new home?  Have you decorated your home and what car did you replace the Pearl with? Do you grill flank steak and drink Iron Horse? Do you listen to Mule? Do you sleep well at night, knowing you are writing the chapter in your story you wanted?  And sometimes I even wonder, do you ever think of me?

I don’t have any answers.  That once drove me nearly mad – the lack of answers and the endless swirling questions.  But like a tornado in my heart, the winds have died down.  That funnel of wind, fueled by grief and silence, fed by the unknown and unattainable has faded.  I won’t say my soul is at peace.  That would be stretching the truth too far.  But I will say that storm within has passed. 

Now, when my thoughts turn to you as I drive past the Killingsworth sign, I raise my eyes momentarily to the clouds above and say a prayer that you are well.  I pray you are whole and thriving, that your world is everything you wanted it to be.  I wish you well and even if you don’t want it any longer, I feel the ties of friendship that for me, were never severed. 

And I keep on driving. 

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Son and Consort

A crisp lavender expanse of down and fluff.

Warmed by body heat and scented like my skin.

A 54×75 sanctuary where my two worlds dream.

Side by side in unwitting repose.

They will never meet here,

Merely know the feel of resting here with me.

I bear lone witness to this strange changing of the guard.

I am the treasure they share.

They each claim a place in my lilac-colored world.

The warm void between sheets the tender turf,

Where my intimacy runs free with Son and Consort.

I am the constant.

I am the Mother-Mistress.

I am the gravity that draws them here.

I am their common ground.

***

You climb into my bed in the wee hours of the morning.

Your warmth seeps into me as you snuggle close.

I can feel a sense of safety fill you as you settle in next to me.

I can feel the pull of my love,

like the gravity of the sun holding my universe together.

I stroke your hair and watch as you breathe deeper, relaxing into my touch.

Remembering many nights together.

The texture of your hair is coarser now.

Not the baby fine silk you had when you were three.

But the feel of it transports me back in time.

To every moment I rocked you to sleep in my arms or held you close to me.

You are my reason, my sanity, my tether to this world.

You are the reason I fight, I strive, I grow.

You are my heart and soul, the definition of my love.

You are my son.

***

I leave the door unlocked for you and climb between scented sheets.

My body tingling, anticipating your touch.

I try to sleep, knowing you are on your way to me.

But I think of your caress and abandon thoughts of rest.

My hands roam my body too hungry to wait for you.

I lose myself in the sea of my own desire.

You open the door and find me in passion’s throes.

A wolfish smile upon your face as your hand replaces mine.

I am shocked back to reality by your kiss.

And delivered to passion once again.

You are the one who stokes my fires, who drives me beyond my brink.

You are my balance, my motivation, my laughter, my release.

You are the visitor that drinks from the wellspring of my heart.

You are my lover.

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