Please come again.

I came again moments after you left with the smell of you on my skin. Exhausted and smiling.

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sigh

I am sick of disappointment. Specifically, I am sick of people disappointing me. Why do I allow myself to hope that someone may actually be what they say? It keeps kicking me in the teeth and I wonder why I keep getting up.

Anticipation

I close my eyes and begin thumbing through the images of you from last night. I’ve been doing this so often since you left, the corners are beginning to wear. I took them to bed with me as I closed the door behind you. And today they have been my dirty little secrets, hidden from view, as I went about my day. I’ve been savoring them, letting them stroke my skin and brain. Your voice, a temporary salve to this heat you have created. But it’s you I really crave. Your touch and strength. The uncanny way you can read my mind and know what I want and sometimes can’t admit. Your smile and laugh that are so contagious I find myself smiling as I write this. The tease of what’s to come, of what I know I shouldn’t but want to none-the-less. Rules thrown out the window, but knowing inside, I could not have resisted much longer. Missing you.

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Slow dancing in a burning room

I've met someone new. Actually, more accurately, I've reconnected with someone from my past. We haven't met in person yet, but I love the slow, sly cautious dance we are having as we get reacquainted. Between the emails and the instant messages, there is a subtle undercurrent of potential resting on memories that has my body buzzing. The flirting, both obvious and veiled, includes honest and real declarations, dirty little secrets, wants, regrets and desires. He has given me permission to be completely honest with my feelings without even saying a word. How unlike me. I wonder if I will be required to ask permission for what I want in bed. How delicious. I want to seduce him, I want him to be thinking of our conversations when he falls asleep at night, I want him to check his email so often it distracts him from work, I want him to be focused on the IM screen and just seeing my name pop up brings a smile to his lips. I want him to wonder what sex will be like with me after 26 years of not seeing each other and he only knowing the girl and not the woman I've become. I can't wait for the first kiss. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

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Maybe

So on this "official" day of love, I've been thinking a lot about it. Reflecting on my current situation and the ache it has in my heart. Maybe it's not meant to be. Maybe I'm pushing it too hard trying to make it work. Maybe its only purpose is to wake my mind and body up to the feeling of love again and remind it of all it can be or at least the potential of all it can be. Maybe there is something better around the bend. Maybe...

As he wanders back into my life...

I love the way his skin feels, his shoulders showing too many hours in the sun.

I love the way he he rumbles when you scratch his back, like a bear awakening from hibernation.

I love the way he looks at me with this intense stare when his fingers are slowing lowering the straps to my camisole.

I love way he enjoys his family in the manner so similar to my own.

I love that he likes to read and gives me recommendations.

I love his interest in wine and that he can actually taste the differences.

I love how he wakes me up in the morning, still half asleep his body curling into mine and his fingers finding all the right places.

I love how thoughtful he can be.

I love his love for football.

I love how he loves on his dog.

I love his insecurities and that we have similar shitty pasts.

I love that he is such a good friend to his friends.

I love the way he dances.

I love the way he sucks in my bottom lip when he kisses me.

I hate his inability to accept love and allow good things to happen or is that what I hate in myself.

One of us has to take the first step.

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Smolder

From the latest cadillac commercial:

The relationship you have with your car isn’t so different from your other relationships

Some burn hot and fast but don’t last very long

Some burn for a while but don’t throw much heat

And some, smolder beautifully for a long, long time.

Door number 3 please.

Image

Standing in the dark. Looking outside at the icy landscape. A distant porch light coming through the window making interesting patterns on the walls behind me and I’m sure across my tear streaked face. I’m not even sure why I’m sad. Maybe I have been holding in too much. Keeping strong, emotional and conflicted feelings bottled up inside me, which ultimately and without warning, find their way to the surface in the form of tears. Sitting here hours later, trying to make sense of what I’m feeling, I’m still not sure. It seems as there could be a number of possibilities, and frankly, they all sound trite and sophomoric. I think ultimately I miss my friend. My person I freak out to and that by saying it all out loud with, makes it okay. She is dealing with her own issues in life now, and me, the stronger of the two, doesn’t want to burden her with my baggage. I also miss a partner in crime. A man who gets it, you, and loves you anyway. Funny, they both serve similar interests, but very differently. I need them both in my life. They give me balance. They make me honest. They make me a better person.

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Inappropriate men

Why and how do they find me?

Why does it have be incredible sex?

Why do I want more?

I want more.

The next morning

Waking up with a wicked hangover to find my clothes tossed about the room with complete abandon. Open condom wrappers on the floor. Buttons scattered down the stairs eliciting the memory and the sound of him ripping my shirt open and the buttons dancing off the walls. Bandaids on the counter but no idea why. Several wine bottles on the bar. My sweater tossed over the table. A chair knocked over. His shirt in my bathroom and picking it up and deliciously breathing him in again. Snippets of the shape of his body, how beautiful the silhouette was behind the foggy glass of my shower. Wondering what shirt he picked of mine to wear to work. Laying in bed half covered by the sheet hoping he will stop and come back as he passes me on his way out, he does...twice.

More please.

Thank you Gracie for the perfect image.