Murmurations of Me

A comfortable silence was had in the car to go feed our giant lapdog who was clearly put out by the late hour, though this was made up for by his warm mash for Christmas dinner topped with treats and carrots and apples. For once, my focus wasn’t on my adorable fuzzy four-legged animal, instead it was torn to the man with me. All the time he touched me somewhere. In the car, his hand on my leg. At the gate, a hand on me as I climbed over. In the field, my body pulled firmly against his. I keep telling myself he’ll tire of this, of me, not to get used to it. But it’s so damn nice. 

Homeward bound, the silence is a little bit heavier but with anticipation instead of fear. I can feel my own arousal building, then again the hand on my thigh isn’t helping much. I glance down and once again notice just how huge they are, strong hands, working hands. “Do you mind if we swing up to my place? I just want to grab a few bits,” he asks. “Of course,” I reply. He leaves me behind, telling me he won’t be long. I feel a little alone without him, then brush that silliness aside. Out he strides, arms laden with bags and a giant smile plastered across his face illuminated by the headlights. He thinks he’s fucking moving in, is the first thing that enters my head. How the hell am I going to deal with this one? 

The three minutes it takes to get home are filled with his avid conversation, none of which I can remember as none of which I actually heard. Car off, bags grabbed and he’s striding to the door. I follow, praying to anyone willing to listen that I’m wrong. Door closes, I immediately kneel and start to take his boots off. Just as quickly and he’s taking mine. It’s then he realises there’s something wrong and looks up at me, questioning with one of my feet in his hand as he peels a sock away. He doesn’t need to ask, I know his question just from his eyes. “What’s in the bags?” A cheeky grin, he bounces to his feet (I so envy his agility) pulls me close and declares “Presents! It’s Christmas!!! Well those and a some clothes and a few bits for myself.” His laughter is infectious. “I left all the torture toys at home for when you visit,” he winks at me and slaps my ass. Bags grabbed and we head for the sitting room, a loud creak declaring his descent to the couch (please stop sitting in my spot btw lol) while I retrieve the few gifts I have for him under the tree. 

“The teen’s first,” I tell him, presenting the gift my gorgeous girl has made for him. An entire book of sketches dedicated to him, each one with a title, each one with a picture of him in all the ways she knows him. We look at them together as I haven’t been let in on the secret gift and I’m, as always, astounded by what she sees. Close to the back, about five or six pages in, there’s a picture that takes both our breath’s away though. The page is split in two. The title on top says it all, as there below is a sketch of me sitting hunched with my head on my hands just looking. On the other side, there he is in his resting stance that’s so familiar to me: one leg propped on a gate, the other firm and strong on the ground, his arms spread wide with strong hands gripping the top bar of the gate, just looking. And the title above? “That Look”. I don’t know if she understood what she captured, but she captured it perfectly. 

Next he got mine. A framed photo I managed to capture while he was absent on one of my walks, a deep stormy sunset with the gulls swarming above heading inward to land for safety. I got a kiss for that one. The second was a tongs to put coal on his fire, something he’d admired and approved of at my own house. I got a laugh and a kiss for that one. The third was a selection of candles and a solar-powered pump for his water, an homage to the day we spent together preparing for the storm many moons ago. For this, I was pinned to the couch and tormented and teased until I begged him to stop, laughter pouring from both of us as I fought against him while he managed to hold me down with one hand. His eyes burned into mine as he told me he’d open his last present later, then tugged on the cardigan I still wore.

Finally he let me back up, and I sat while he knelt in front of me rummaging in his bag like Santa Claus. He left the teen’s and something for the manchild under the tree with a promise not to peek before they got home. Then he presented me with mine. Very unsure of myself now, I took what he gave me and unwrapped two beautiful carved bookends of horses rearing. I turned them in my hands over and over, recognising the beautiful animals in my hands as my own. This got a deep kiss. Next was a pair of gloves. This one got a questioning look, and then he reminded me of my coal covered jeans from the day before the storm.

He was hesitant of handing over the last one, I could feel it in him. I unwrapped it carefully, but before I could uncover it he placed a hand on mine. “This isn’t something I expect you to keep,” he tells me. I’m confused, but remove the paper nonetheless. There in front of me is a photo of him and a laughing woman, his wife. His eyes are searching my face, trying to read me. I run a finger over the picture, first his face, then hers. A whirlwind of emotions run through me, thoughts running riot in my head. I think back to our conversation at our place earlier, all the truths he spoke to me there of her and I speak the only truth I can to him, “she made you happy, that’s all that matters to me. Thank you for sharing her with me.” My nose is being kissed again, and as I look at him I see tears threatening in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere”, he tells me. “I’ve missed you too,” I reply. 

Presents get abandoned and I’m back under him once again, though this time he’s given me back my hands to explore. The tempo has changed this time, urgency replaced with passion, lust replaced with want, hands becoming familiar with the feeling of each other, mouths - omg his mouth is just dangerous… Once again I’m reminded of my earlier inability to control myself as fresh floods release from somewhere deep inside me and I feel the damp heat between my legs. I can feel him growing on top of me, feel his unmet need pressing into me. “Can we go upstairs so I can unwrap my last present?” he asks me. Fuck, the state of my bedroom was long forgotten. Shit, sex? This was happening… I hadn’t thought about this… Panic started again, heart racing and not in a good way, and once again he felt me tense. “I don’t want to fuck you - well I do, but not yet, not until we’re both ready. But I would like to sleep with you, be with you, stay with you, if you’ll have me?” Well I can’t really refuse that, now can I?

So we head for the stairs, my legs ridiculously wobbly and knees creaking and clicking at every step. I try to put all thoughts out of my head, just stay in the moment woman, if it feels right then it feels right. He’s brought a bag. I quickly gather up the clothes I’ve abandoned earlier and unceremoniously dump them in a corner, both of us laughing as I do. And then we’re both just standing there in hot anticipation and a little bit afraid of what’s to come. Not even twelve hours have passed since he landed on my doorstep, and so, so much has happened since then.

He closes the gap between us, and starts unwrapping me, his final gift. The cardigan drops easily. He reaches for my jeans next, button by button making me wait between each one. Sliding them down, he leaves my underwear on. Once again I’m asked to step out of each leg, only this time he’s in front of me. As my second leg is lifted, I feel his breath on me, hot and fast. His mouth latches onto my clit through the thin material as he tugs my jeans free of my foot. I hear my name again, feel my name from his mouth against me. He teases with his teeth, his tongue lapping every drop I produce in response. My hands are on his head, more to steady myself than anything else as I rock myself against him. I know I’m moaning his name, though what else I’m saying I’ve no idea. I do know “please” was said a lot. 

He finally releases me, pushes me back gently until I gratefully feel the bed against my legs and sink down to it. He joins me, lies with me for a little while and asks me questions: what I’ve tried on myself and enjoyed, what I haven’t enjoyed, what turns me on when I don’t expect it to, what turns me off. The list goes on and on,  yet while I reply he uses that mouth on me, those hands.

His questions keep coming, and then a big one: what part of my body do I like the least. A few months ago it would have been every part, but now, lying here with him, the only part I’m worried about is my belly. So far he’s left my top on, and now he asks me “why” as he slides his body down, fingers begin to push it up little by little, his mouth covering what his fingers have unearthed. A nibble here, a kiss there, a lick, a bite. I have no reply as inch by inch my belly becomes his to explore. He sinks his teeth deep into each inside of me, pulling on the flesh he finds. His rough hands coax and soothe where his mouth has left, tracing circles against my skin. “Why?” he repeats, burrying his face in it, licking from the top of my pussy to the bottom of my bra, landing with his chin resting perfectly between my breasts as his eyes meet mine. “Lost your voice again?” he asks me, a rumbling chuckle as he works his way from where he was back up to my mouth. 

I know he’s impatient, but I’m even more so to feel his skin against mine once more. My fingers find the buttons of his shirt, one by one expertly opening them and pushing it from his shoulders. “You’ve got to teach me how to do that,” I hear against my lips. He’s biting my lip now, but I still want more and I tell him so. I can feel him against my thigh through his jeans. But I want more than that. I want him without his jeans. I reach for him then, my hand finding his length before he can stop me as I whisper “more” against his lips. I hear him pant, feel him pant. My fingers tighten around him slightly and move slowly towards the tip, he holds his breath. My name again, pleading, begging, “stop”, he asks me. I flatten my hand against him and feel him relax a little, a slow groan escaping. 

He quickly rolls on his back, his hands running through his hair and I can see he’s torn. I roll on my side, hand flat on his chest, remembering his words to me earlier and knowing what he really wants to do. “I’m not ready for that,” I tell him, planting kisses everywhere I can, feeling his heart absolutely racing under my lips. “I know, and I don’t want you to,” he tells me, though I don’t entirely believe him. “What are you most afraid of?” I ask. He pauses for half a lifetime, slowing his breathing, taking my hand in his to stop me moving it.  “I’ll show you,” he says. 

He rolls of the bed, stands and stares at me. I sit up, top still askew, hair everywhere, and really not giving a shit anymore. He smiles at me, realising quickly I don’t care anymore as my belly hangs out in the slumped pose I’ve created with my legs crossed. He shrugs his shirt off and I’m treated to the most magnificent view of him as he hands there, jeans taut against his hips, strong thighs bulging through the denim (I do love a decent set of thighs), firm torso rippling and rolling as he breathes.

And then he turns. My breath catches. Tears fall as I scramble towards him falling over in my haste. He’s turned back to face me before I reach him, pulling me into him as my heart breaks in two for him, a deep ache that I’ll never forget. “Do you understand?” His voice is loud, and he’s scaring me. his hands grab my arms now, shaking me back to reality. I just want to touch him, to hold him, to tell him it’s ok. “Tell me, tell me you understand,” he’s shouting at me now. I’m not afraid anymore. I’m trying to find the words but I can’t stop crying. “I need to hear you say it, please tell me you understand” I can hear the pain in his voice, the anguish drowns out everything else inside of him. “I understand,” I nod against him. “Look at me and tell me, please, please look at me.”  It takes everything inside of me to meet his eyes, but I do. His are wild, yet pleading, hard and unreadable, yet so vulnerable. “I promise you, I understand.” 

You see, what I saw when he turned were scars. Lines up and down his back. What I felt as sinew and muscle and traced with my fingers with lust and awe were not just what I thought they were. They were scars too. What seemed like hundreds of them. I knew what he was afraid of now. I knew his deepest darkest secret without him telling me. He was utterly terrified of losing control, of truly hurting me and not being able to stop. 

He let me touch him then, he let me grieve for the person he should have been, could have been, without the past he’d had. He let me touch him, soothe him, kiss him, murmur to him as we lay together in bed. We talked about an Irish upbringing, we talked about times long since gone. We talked about a good life with his wife, how he thought it would be forever and the demons that came back when she died. We talked about us, we talked about me, we talked about how my life had gone wrong and how and what we need to do together before anything else. Sometimes we laughed, sometimes we cried, but we were together and that’s all that mattered. 

Somewhere we ran out of words, and replaced them with kisses instead. He pinned me down and explored every single piece of me with his mouth and then came back for more. He asked if he could mark me, I told him of course he could but he already had surely. He brought me to a mirror to show me he hadn’t, apart from the fabulous bitemark on my ass. I eventually managed to pry his jeans off under protest, but the rest wasn’t allowed.

And then he went back to exploring me.  My belly will never be safe again, and apparently it’s the perfect place to leave the first letter of his name as no-one else will see it there. My underwear was removed, and there on my belly he lay, etching his name into my skin with his teeth as his fingers plunged inside me taking me over the edge again and again and again.

He knelt back on his heels, that dark look in his eyes as I lay there utterly spent, my hand rubbing my belly where he’d been for the last hour or so. “Does it hurt?” he asked, with more than just that one question in his eyes. “Everything hurts”, I tell him, “but in a good way, I promise”. I didn’t think his eyes could get any darker, but a shadow fell across his face. I spread my legs wide, inviting him, watching his shaft twitch as I did. Fear returned to his face, indecision as his own hand found himself and stroked the material covering it. “I need you”, I told him, “please”, I begged. 

He hesitated, I saw his muscles tense, his jaw working overtime. “Lie with me,” I suggested. His eyes never left mine as he moved towards me. I stopped him as he hovered above, reached for his waist, pushed at the band. He was tense, but he didn’t resist. Much and all as I struggled, my eyes never left his, something I found incredibly difficult to do. I got them down enough for him to wriggle out of, and then there he was, just as naked and vulnerable as I was, aching and hurting just as much as me but for a different reason.

He buried his head in me then, “there it is, that scent I’ve been searching for” he told me, his hands holding tight to fistfuls of my hair as he devoured my skin. I could hear his mouth and teeth working on my skin, feel the bites as the deepened. Slowly, gently I rocked my hips against him. My name was back on his lips, a whimper, a plea of my name. This gorgeous incredible man was here with me whimpering in my arms. Finally my hips found the right angle and I felt him nudge at the entrance to me, yielding gladly. But he froze, my flesh trapped between his teeth. I hushed his cry, moved further underneath him to let him in, his teeth clasping on me as he did. I won’t lie, I was more than just a little terrified that what he’d latched onto was going to be torn off, or that he was going to split me in two. Either way, I’d die happy.

My hands on his ass were trying to coax him further inside, it was like trying to coax two blocks of stone though. My nails dig in, and a reaction came from deep inside him. I felt it before I heard it, a primal roar so deep I’m sure it woke my neighbours. His hands tore mine away and pinned them above my head, his legs forced mine further apart than they already stretched, his mouth covered mine and sucked what breath I had away and replaced it with his tongue.  I’m guessing maybe an inch, maybe two were inside me, that was all. And then, well then I became a brat. A complete and utter brat. I clenched around him, hard, so hard it actually physically hurt me. His head shot up and suddenly I was full, so goddam full and that roar was back building in him again as he pulled back and slammed into me over and over again. I came hard and fast, every piece of me splintering apart in pure undiluted ecstasy. He shouted at me to look at him, and as I did with another orgasm hitting me, his body pounding into mine, I told him one last time “I’ve missed you so damn much.” 

I’ve never seen someone cum like that, never felt it, hot streams melting and soothing me inside triggering one last incredible orgasm as I milked him for all I was worth, never felt so complete as I did in that moment, never truly watched someone lose control inside of me. It was raw, fuck it, I was raw at that stage, but it was the most beautiful thing to feel him, see him, touch him, and taste him as his mouth found mine one more time. 

He lay on top of me for a while, my hands still firmly pinned above my head, still connected in the middle, just being, catching our breath, enjoying every moment that just was right then and right there. One hand on my hip, he rolled to his side taking me with him. He pulled me further onto him, “I don’t want to come out yet,” he told me. “I don’t want you to either,” I laughed back. “You need an ass-whooping for that,” I’m told as he nuzzles me. “Promises promises,” I drowsily reply, immediately regretting my words as I see his eyes darken and feel him twitch inside me. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.  “Maybe in the morning,” he warns me, “now go to sleep.” I close my eyes, and I do just that. 

First off was what clothes to put on after making my way upstairs. I hadn’t exactly dressed to impress anyone anyway, but thoughts of what had just happened kept flooding back and inspiring what might happen later in my brain. Do I dress up? Fuck, he might think I’m being stupid. Has he even seen me in a dress? Do I go super casual? Well then he’s going to think I just couldn’t be bothered. Tight jeans were never ever gonna happen again around him, that I was sure of. And those softy brushed cotton shirts I usually wore all the time - well there would be no buttons left on anything I reckoned if I went for those. Fuck my life. Ok, think woman, think. It wasn’t too cold outside, so a vest top and a cardigan I loved, soft to the touch but has a tie instead of buttons. Trousers? I can do trousers can’t I? But we’re going for a walk…

”Do I need to come up there and dress you myself?” I hear from the bottom of the stairs. Shit, no, frantically taking in the clothes I’ve now flung all over the room. “Two minutes”, I reply. My name is growled back at me, “you have until I reach the top step.” Well, now, balls. That’s now put a whole other series of thoughts in my head. I grab the first matching set of underwear I find, and ease some super sensitive nipples inside the bra followed closely with attempting to tuck a super-engorged clit into a thong. Vest top on, jeans pulled over ass - then I smell his scent, and suddenly he’s behind me again. I didn’t even hear him coming. I’m frozen to the spot as his arms come around me, my heart racing as I look around the room. “Need some help with this?” as he reaches for the waist of my jeans. I tilt my head back, look up at the smiling face above me as he buttons them one agonising button at a time. Why did I pick these ones? He pulls my top down then turns me around to face him. Good god I’m a mess. “You might need more clothes than that,” he tells me, then kisses me on the nose.

I reach for the cardigan and he takes it out of my hands, holds it to his face and takes a deep breath. “Nope, that’s not it,” he tells me. I’m a little confused now. He holds it open for me and I put my arms through, then quickly turns me around again and examines me, a confused look crossing his face. “It ties at the side, like this,” I show him while I tie the bow, “it’s a wraparound one.” That smile returns and lights up his brooding perplexed face, then a low laugh. “Are you my present then if I get to unwrap you later?” My face turns crimson and my eyes drop. “Come here you,” he says, “I’m only messing with you,” and buries me against him in a hug.

He kisses the top of my head and declares I need socks. That part was easy, so I grabbed them from the drawer and sat on the bed to put them on. and then the strangest thing: he took the socks from me, knelt in front of me and put them on for me. It still churns me up thinking back on it now. Just as quickly, he was up and pulling me to my feet and dragging me down the stairs to get boots on. He went to stand in his, turned and found me in front of him to tie them up. Another sharp intake of breath, I assumed because my head was now hovering at his crotch. Either way, I was happy. I dug mine out of the shoe rack, and by the time I’d turned back he was there in front of me once again, kneeling in front of me to do mine. This was my job… He doesn’t know that yet, obviously, but I’m really not sure what to make of it and not finding it easy to make sense of. 

He’s up again, towering above me in a vaguely threatening manner with an impish grin on his face, a darkness to his eyes that I’m beginning to recognise as “lust”. “Can I kiss you before we go, just in case I forget what you taste like?” he asks. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I ask and pointedly look at his crotch, smiling sweetly as I raise an eyebrow when my eyes return to his. “Kissing you is always a good idea,” he replies before pushing me back against the door behind. 

There’s nothing soft about what followed, no soft touch, no gentle caress. That man took my breath away as he mauled me with his hands and mouth and body. I was left under no illusions but that he wanted me. His mouth never left mine, he crushed me with his body, he pulled my legs up and around him as if I were tiny and weightless and held me there while he ground out his want against my core. When he ripped his mouth from mine, he was just as breathless as I was, his forehead against mine pushing my head back against the wood. He dropped one of my legs leaving me on tiptoe to hold myself up as he dragged his hand up to my face across my body. His thumb found my bottom lip, the rest of his hand cupping my face. I felt his eyes open and then he pulls back just enough to see me. “Freshly kissed lips are nice to see,” he tells me. 

He’s off me as quickly as he was on me, pulling me forward enough to open the door behind. Jackets had been forgotten, but quickly remembered when the air outside hits us both. I grab mine from the rack, he grabs his from the jeep, and we set off. We bump hips occasionally, getting in each other’s way walking closer than we normally do, laughing softly at the silliness of it all. He asks me questions, lots of questions, asking about the kids, when they’ll be back, how I’ve filled my days, what plans I have. He throws in jokes, snippets of conversations he’s had, who he’s seen in the days he’s been missing and the inevitable covid outbreak and who has it. We meet people out for a walk while the dinner cooks, little kids dragged away from toys for some fresh air eager to tell of what they’ve gotten for Christmas. Smiles and happiness surround us. The route, as always, takes us to the beach, and the mood changes a little. “Do you want to go over?” I ask. “Do you?” is of course his reply. I spend the longest time looking across, seeing the little path that no-one else notices, the slightly worn stone where my footsteps have taken me for years, and more recently him. “I went this morning,” I tell him. A pause, my name again, “you went without me?” I look up to him then, turn to fully face him, don’t even take in who’s around us or notice the cars pass. “I told you I missed you,” I tell him, “it’s where we’ve always been closest”. 

He proffers his arm and I take it gratefully, though the tension is still there. We walk on in silence and I miss the distraction of the pupper going across the rocks. We sit, his arm comes around me, he holds my hands in his lap and it’s like nothing has changed. My head drops on his shoulder, but no tears come. It’s like She knows too, She just ebbs and flows like a normal sea does, not screaming at me, not shouting for my tears.

I feel him tense a little, his hand around me starts rubbing my arm. I lift my head to check he’s ok as he finds his tears in this place too. There they are, streaming down his face, but he’s not sobbing like he usually does. Just tears. Hot jealousy rips through me as I remember how he’s talked of his wife, and I can’t help it, not one ounce of it. I still wipe his face, breaking through to him as I do. How did I not notice he’s smiling, I wonder. He looks down at me and kisses my nose, again (not condescending at all, eh?). I must’ve made some reaction to it because he’s laughing at me now. He half turns me into him as he holds me close, then hefts me between his legs and plonks me on the rock in front of him. “She’d like you, you know,” he tells me, “and I think she’d approve of my choice.” I try not to stiffen but of course I do, fucking jealousy is a terrible thing. He pulls me back against him tightly and rocks me softly, “I’ll always miss her, you know that. But it’s like you with the kids. You miss one when they’re not there.” I try so hard to take in his words, try so hard to believe what he’s telling me. Still the doubt is there, and the previous doubts creep back, the “what ifs” of who I am versus who he is. 

I lean against him properly and he eases his grip on me, his arms still wrapped around me but soothing me as the tears fall. He wipes the tears, turning my face to him occasionally to plant another kiss on my nose. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks. Wow, where do I begin the verbal diarrhoea of that one… “yes and no,” I try instead. “Ok, so tell me what you do want to tell me first and then tell me what you don’t,” he replies with a steady enough voice that I turn my own head to try and read his expression - I should’ve known, a face created with smiles. 

And so it went. I was glad I was faced away from him, I’m sure he did it on purpose. The deep dark doubts of my mind played on repeat in my mind until I got all of the “normal” stuff out, his wife, his grief, my own, my kids. He listened, he thought for a couple of moments and then gave his. Some of his met mine, he reassured me on quite a few of them actually by what he had seen and felt was good and bad, appropriate and inappropriate. I laughed at some, disagreed with others and took on board everything else just as he did. I’ll admit it was easier than I’d expected. 

And then silence again, not the comfortable silence I usually had with him, that pregnant silence heavy with weight and anticipation. “And what DONT you want to tell me?” he asked, his arms tightening around me once more. I sighed. The damn tears were back. Do I tell him now and risk him leaving and never coming back? Do I wait a few weeks, months even? Do I live a lie like I always have and hope that he’s “enough” of what I want? “I’m not going anywhere,” his voice breaks it all. Now or never time. 

So we sat, and I tried to tell him who I am, what I am, using every analogy I know without talking about actual acts I enjoy or want to try or any of that. I just tell him my “ideal” of a relationship. And what does he do when I run out of words? He laughs. I freeze. I want to run, my heart is racing and I want to run and never stop running. No-one knows who and what I am where I live and here I am on a rock baring my souls to ultimately a stranger. He must have felt the change in me because he stops and holds me tight, this time pinning my legs under his two and holding them  against the rock so I can’t move. He drops his head and nudges my hair out of the way, his breath hot against my cold neck. “Is that all you were worried about?” he asks, “I told you, I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. Now tell me your kinks please, then I’ll tell you mine,” and he sunk his teeth into my neck once more. 

And so it went. I have no idea how long we sat there for, not long I’m sure. He didn’t need to tell me which ones we agreed on, his mouth, moans and heart told me that instead.  He eventually released me to tell me his, though I got to straddle him and torment him for that part to let him know which ones I liked and didn’t like. I could have spent a lifetime there, our words carried away on the breeze, our secrets sealed with a kiss. 

We laughed our way back across the rocks, funny looks from locals as we landed on the sand but kids joined in as we had a race back to the road (I won btw…!). We walked back to the house, him planting me firmly at his side with his arm around my hip pulling me against him as we strolled. And I didn’t care. 

Smells of Christmas wafted from the kitchen, the dinner long forgotten but thankfully still not cooked in the oven. A sulking pupper demanding attention as boots and coats were discarded, and yes, he knelt and removed mine once again once I’d removed his (though seeing as he’s now joined this site, he can give his own explanation if he chooses to for that one).  It’s something I’m still unsure of, yet it still churns me up thinking about it. 

He didn’t leave me that evening. As I stood and prepared dinner for two, he stood behind me asking what I was doing and why. He mirrors my movements as I set the table. He stopped me from having any alcohol, as he reckoned I was drunk enough on other things. He avoided touching me when I had sharp knives in my hand, though whether this was for his benefit or for mine I’m not sure! He asked questions, critiqued my music choices, obsessed over my roasties, exploded cream all over my kitchen in an attempt to whip it, then made me sit while he washed and cleaned up and then complained about how much washing up there was. 

When all went quiet and calm, we headed for the sitting room. The smell of sex when I opened the door hit me first, and I stopped dead, memories of all that happened earlier rushing in and making me weak and breathless. He was behind me again, I could feel his smile against my neck, the heat of his body against mine as he breathed me in. “Mmmmm you smell good,” he tells me. Memories of my kinks and his loomed dangerously in my head, a heady want and an utter fear of the unknown. I knew I was trembling, I could feel myself shaking. Suddenly I was the immovable object. “Relax,” he tells me, “I told you I’m not going anywhere”, he says. Not exactly what a girl wants to hear from a giant of a man that she’s suddenly afraid off for telling her the truth of what his deepest darkest fantasies are… 

A long low laugh, and he turns me to face him. “We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to. First rule,” he tells me. “There are some things I won’t be able to do to you that you want me to, and you can’t make me. Second rule,” he tells me. I blush and smile all in one. “We’re not doing anything until we go feed the horse. Third rule,” and now I’m heartily laughing along with him, having totally forgotten about the poor animal. “And tonight, I just want to stay and be with you,” his eyes drop this time, “if that’s ok with you?” It’s my turn to make his eyes meet mine. “Yes to all,” I reply. 

He has a terrible habit of launching me up to his hips and holding me there while he kisses every thought out of my head, and that’s where I found myself, wrapped once again around him as he repeats one of his kinks “freshly kissed lips before we leave the house.”  This one I definitely agree with, though it’s incredibly difficult to stop at just that. Unceremoniously plonked back on the ground, off we went to feed the horse. 

(Sweet man, I know you’re reading this. Ive given up on proof-reading, just so you know…!) 

He started out so slowly, agonisingly slowly. A gentle soft brush of lips, then he’d pull his mouth away replaced by his thumb as though rubbing any trace of himself from me. His forehead was still against mine, the length of his body still touched every inch of mine, yet I felt so vacant every time he stopped, so empty, so lost. Teenage hormones long forgotten surged through me gasping for more and more and more, but he ignored me. Soft sweet kisses, then rub them away again, repeat. He made me breathless from nothing. 

I needed to touch him so badly now, wanted him to touch me. I’m sure he could smell my arousal, I know I could, that hot burning well between my legs flowing over from the hot trails of kisses he kept depositing. My hands pulled at his shirt again, the one he’s now managed to somehow tuck back in without me noticing. Memories of his skin warm and hard beneath my fingers making me groan involuntarily against his mouth. I find it, I find him hidden underneath the cloth, feel him move to cover me, spreading my legs to make space, mesmerised once again by how tall, broad and utterly masculine he is. 

I sneak my tongue between my lips, making contact with his thumb, feeling him jerk it away at the contact and I smile. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to kiss, no idea how to initiate something deeper, longer, more - that word keeps coming back to me, “more”. Fuck I want more. His lips find mine once again and I sneak my tongue out, tracing his lips with it, pushing, asking for more. Request denied, though I do like the sharp intake of breath I feel in response. His thumb is back, wiping his mouth away. I open my mouth this time and find a way to suck him in, warm and rough against my tongue but I lick and suck for as long as he lets me.

My hands move up, pulling more of his shirt as I do. I find his heart, feel it this beneath my fingers. It’s starting to race a little though not as much as I’d like. I move them to his back, try to pull him against me but to no avail. He’s become this giant immovable object that I’m not allowed. His lips are back, teasing, stroking, his tongue flicks out to taste my lips and he places me on this giant precipice of begging him to please just take me right there and then. My hips find a life of their own and moans and groans come from me that I haven’t heard before when my centre grinds against the hardness I discover. 

My name again, a warning moaned against my lips. I don’t care how bold I’m being anymore, eaten alive by pure and utter lust. My legs snake around him so he can’t pull away, my hands finding the buttons on his shirt and quickly opening them one by one finally finding that heat beneath. Good god he’s incredible. I haven’t even seen him yet but can feel raw muscle and hardness every which way my fingers move. My hips have taken on a life of their own, dancing a beat to their own drum, rhythm and movement I’m no longer aware of. 

Finally, finally, finally his mouth opens on mine and I’m so grateful he knows how to kiss because I’ve lost all brain function by now. There’s nothing sensual, nothing soft anymore, just raw need coming from both of us as tongues clash and dance, teeth get bashed and he forces everything to the point i know my lips will be swollen from his assault. His hands are back in my hair, fistfuls being tugged and pulled while he invades my mouth.

My name again, a demand, a deep need this time. I can feel a little stubble against my skin leaving trails of fire behind. One hand still holding my head, the other moves to my own clothes trying so desperately to find a way in. He rips his mouth from mine, frustration and anger so evident when he says my name this time. I can hear the need in his voice but don’t know how to fill it for him. He looks down, glances up at me, a question I can’t hear and don’t know how to answer. The next sound is buttons popping as my own shirt is ripped open followed by a soft sound of satisfaction from him when his skin meets mine as he lowers himself back down to me. His forehead is back on mine, the soft kisses have returned, and now I’m lost in him one more time feeling him against me. 

Somehow it’s enough, though my hips still hump against him but now I’m being humped back. Tentative touches, soft kisses, the thirst for now quenched by being skin on skin. His rough hands finding the soft infirm flesh of me. His mouth dancing on mine, but now making hot trails on my neck and collarbone moving from one side to the other to find that oh so perfect spot where shoulder and neck meet to sink his teeth into. Gently at first, then deeper each time. Sounds of soft sucking as he soothed and tasted me over and over, each time returning to my lips to share the salty flavour he’d found.

Like a pressure pot building, I was soon singing and whistling his name. He started to move lower now, finding softer sections of me, more places to sink his teeth, more tastes to share, always returning to my mouth. I don’t know what he was trying to do, but it culminated in a writhing woman underneath him. He reached the edge of my bra and paused for a moment before pushing the cup down, slowly taking one nipple into his mouth. I can’t take much more of this, I know I can’t. He leaves it behind with a flick of his tongue, then makes his way across to the other side, a trail of kisses in between. My heart is in my ears as he takes the second, but his fingertips have now found the first and gently squeeze and twist while he suckles the second. Fuck I want him so much. Another flick and he’s gone, making his way back to my mouth to show me what he found, his other hand now on the second one dancing the same dance as the first. 

His mouth is more urgent now, not leaving mine as quickly, clearly knowing what his rough fingers are doing to me as they twist, pinch and pull. He’s found my weakness. His mouth begins its ascent once more, hard bites this time, nothing slow or gentle. His fingers move away and I’m left waiting, anticipating, my hips demanding more now as his have stilled against mine.

I don’t know how to describe quite what he did next, but I’ll try. His hands squeezed around my breast, pushing it up to meet his mouth. It felt like he bit my entire breast, though I’m sure it didn’t all fit in, but as much as he possibly could. I know he wanted to go harder, I felt his teeth tremble against my skin as they sink in. He held them there for a moment, then oh so slowly started pulling back, his teeth tearing against my skin, closing around it, making me wait for the moment he found my nipple, closing more and more around it until he held and pulled it up with his teeth, his tongue flicking on the tiny piece inside his mouth. I’m so close by now, my hands are on his ass holding him against my core to give me traction. He released it, then just as quickly softly sucked and soothed. I feel his hand on the other side, slowly squeezing, slowly tightening and pushing it towards his mouth, his breath telling me his mouth is waiting there. And then it begins again. I can’t help myself anymore as his teeth find my nipple, I’m lost as my hips stop and wave after wave of glorious release hit me while his tongue dances on the little nub in his mouth. I hear sounds, I feel him push down on me gently, a gentle rocking of his hard shaft against me while I groan out his name over and over and over again.  And then it’s released, his lips and tongue soothing me, making their way back to my mouth to tell me what they’ve found. 

Brain function has begun its return and I’m utterly mortified, my face on fire at what’s just happened even though little rivulets of pleasure are still washing over me from the rocking of his hips against mine, a firm reminder of his need still beating against me between my legs. His forehead is back on mine, his thumb once again wiping his kisses away. I find my voice, a little croaky but it’s there. “I’m so sorry,” is about all I can manage. He shushes me.

I feel him lower his torso against mine. a new sensation as the soft hair on his chest rubs against some extremely sensitive and still damp nipples. “No really, I’m so so sorry. I really don’t know what came over me,” I try again. A low rumble against my lips. “So you’ve found your voice again?” he asks. I feel my cheeks heat again. I smile against his lips, “yes.” He stops moving his hips, just relaxes and lies against me.

My name is back again. I don’t think anyone has ever used it this much, and, I’m not sure why, but it makes me so incredibly happy to hear it so often. “I think we need to go for a walk,” he says, “but can we leave the pupper at home?” You could have knocked me with a feather right then and there except I was already lying down. His suggestion came from nowhere, his lips and thumb still taking turns on my mouth, so casually thrown in there while I could still feel him hard and throbbing against me through our jeans. “Ok?” I reply, and it was most definitely a question. He didn’t respond. All I got was one final long lingering soft kiss, and then the sound of the couch creaking as his weight moved away from me. 

Suddenly aware of being naked from the neck to my waist, I quickly tried to cover myself and remembered the lack of buttons. Also remembering what had just happened to my body and the inevitable pool between my thighs, I crossed my legs. My name again, a warning growl of it. “Please don’t hide yourself from me.” I glanced up, seeing hurt and a little anger on his face. He reached down with his hands, offering them to me. I took them both and he pulled me up, then pulled me against him. His chest was still bare, and I got to rest against it for a moment and listen to his heart once more as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. He apologised for bursting my buttons, and jokingly suggested I might need to change before we went out. I brushed it off, said I have plenty of shirts and I’m not too bad with a needle. 

His hands roamed across my back then, sliding down til he reached my hips. He pushed me back a little, making me look up. “You might want to change more than your shirt”, he says. One hand reaches between my legs, softly stroking what lies beneath through some very wet denim. His eyes are burning into mine and I can’t look away, my hands dangling at my sides, utterly useless, feeling the fire of his eyes burning lower and lower.

His hand is back on my hip and both of them are turning me away from him but pulling me against him too. He peels my shirt from me, letting it drop to the floor with my bra swiftly following. One arm snakes around the front, sliding up across my belly and finding a nipple exposed and now hard, the other reaches back between my legs to rub and stroke what’s underneath pushing my ass in against him.  His chin rests on my shoulder, stubble rubbing against the skin bruised from his earlier bites. His chest rubs against my back, bare and hard, while I feel his heart against me. “You’re incredible,” he whispers. My cheeks flush hot again, though I have no reply forming from the embarrassment.

His hands move to the front of my jeans, a button is popped, a zip is lowered, jeans and underwear moved down swiftly and suddenly.  His hand is cupping me softly yet firmly, a solitary finger threatening to enter me as it slides along my slit, his other hand is back tormenting my nipples and his mouth is back on my neck whispering and sucking and biting. I don’t know what to do with myself, embarrassed at my nakedness, self-conscious of it all, aroused once again, yet deep down wanting to please him instead of myself. I reach back to feel the hard throb of him that’s been against my back, but he jerks away. My name is back again, followed by a “no”. His hands pull away and reach for my jeans and panties once more, his skin is no longer touching me, then I feel him on my back, his mouth moving down kissing its way down my spine while his fingers push my jeans further down my legs. “I need a little help here,” he says against the small of my back. I’m lost, utterly lost, no idea what he’s asking of me. “With…?” I ask. A throaty laugh, I can feel the vibrations against my skin. “Could you step out of them please?” Fuck, my jeans, he means my jeans. I almost fall over trying to get them off, first one foot, and almost the second until I feel him sink his teeth into the right cheek of my ass. Fuucccck. And he doesn’t let go, he just holds that bite right there, sucking in the flesh while his teeth hold it in place. 

I feel a fresh flood between my legs. I feel his hands slide up my legs on the inside, pushing them apart. I hear him moan as he reaches my thighs and feels the dampness of my skin. I feel him let go of my ass, finally, then that sloppy sound as he kisses and soothes. “Wider,” he says as his fingers and palms push on my legs. I try, I really do, but I’m not sure if I move or not. And then his head, his breath, his mouth finds me. A gentle suck. Soft, blissful, heavenly, his moan causing vibrations against me. Then his tongue, one long, slow lick from my clit to my crack cleaning me of any juices. I can feel myself tremble as his stubble brushes against me.

“Other leg please,” he says against my pussy. What the fuck is he talking about? Please don’t stop, please please don’t stop, but I grudgingly oblige, and as his left hand tugs on my jeans to pull them off, a solitary finger on his right hand slides inside me. I collapse - well that’s the only word for it. A messy heap on the floor panting and arching and all sorts of depravity while he still has just one lone finger inside me unmoving, clenching around it like my life depends on it.

My name is back, over and over I hear it from him but I can’t talk, I can barely breathe. I can hear him move, and then I feel his breath on my back again. What has this man done to me? A gentle kiss on my neck, I feel his finger move. “No, no, no, NO, please no,” I’m begging as he pulls it out. I hear him suck it. “Your voice is back again,” he says, “good.” A gentle slap on my ass. “Go get dressed then, let’s have our walk.” What the fuck? What the actual fuck? I say his name, a giant heaving mess sprawled on the floor naked as the day I was born in the middle of the sitting room. “Yes?” he replies as I hear him stand up. “Can you pass me a blanket from the couch?”

There’s a pause, a long pause. I’m not looking at him, yet I know he’s looking at me lying there. A sigh. My name is back again. I don’t like it this time. “I asked you not to hide yourself from me,” he says. Shit! Shit, shit, shit! How the fuck is a middle-aged woman supposed to gracefully manage to elegantly get off of a now wet floor, stand, and not jiggle (or fall over) while walking out of the room? Shit! I can feel my cheeks burning against the cold floor. Maybe I could just stay here? “Want some help?” he asks. Which is worse I wonder? “No,” I decide. 

Somehow I manage to get my knees under me, unaware of the view it’s probably afforded him as I do, and manage to stand on some very wobbly legs but thinking most of my worst bits are in front so at least the dignity of that part of me remains hidden. He’s behind me in a nanosecond, his mouth close to my ear, his strong arms holding me up swaying me gently in his arms. “You taste incredible”, he tells me, “and I can’t wait to see you, all of you” then gently pushes me away from him. 

A lifetime passed in that hallway before either of us moved, every thought, every touch, every smell so utterly and completely filling my senses. Yet his voice had been mostly absent, that deep low gravelly voice which has brought me so much calm day by day. His hands find both of mine splayed oh so casually across his body, his fingers peeling mine away to keep them for himself, a tangled web of digits he quickly brings to his lips, his eyes never leaving mine. “Are we going to stand here all day?” he asks. I laugh and drop my eyes once more, a new nervousness creeping into me, a selfish ache not wanting to break the moment.

Sensing my reluctance, he bends once more, his mouth finding my neck again, his teeth sinking deep this time while his hands push mine over my head with a thud. Pinning both mine in one of his, his other hand finds my ass again as he lifts me to meet his hips. I feel it before I hear it, a growl that vibrates against my skin, a groan that shakes me to me core, and then “I’m not leaving, but we do need to do something else for a while”. Another push of his hips against mine leave me under no illusions of where his mind is at, though confused about why he’s so keen to stop. A whisper that leaves me tingling answers the question “I don’t want to hurt you,” and he thrusts again to get his point across, his hand tightening on my wrists and his teeth finding my flesh one more time. Then that soft sucking sound as his lips tease and kiss where he’s just bitten me. I can hear his breath, I can hear his heart now too, I can literally hear his arousal as denim rubs against denim. 

But he stops. He pulls away. How I didn’t land on the floor I’ll never know because I certainly didn’t have much control over my body by now. My hands slap against me as they fall back down, released suddenly from his grip. I gasp, he hears it and looks hard at me. A deep chuckle, a belly laugh as I like to call it, echoes around me. He’s right there in front of me, yet I miss him. I feel his hands on my hips as he turns me towards the kitchen, I hear him slap my ass a little as he pushes me forwards, I hear my bare feet padding on the floor, then the sound of his boots following. 

Pushed to a chair, I virtually collapse, a whine reminding me we’ve ignored the pupper for too long. Yet he’s saying my name. Why is he saying my name? A new warm flush creeps throughout me as he calls it again, softer this time yet a little more urgent. God I love it when he says my name. A long laugh breaks me out of my daydream long enough to wonder why he’s laughing. “What’s so funny?” I ask. “You are,” I get back, followed by “do you want tea or coffee?” I’m stumped. How am I sexualising every sound from his mouth? How am I not hearing words but instead wondering what it would feel like to hear all of these sounds uttered against my skin? And more importantly, how is he being so damn normal? “I think I’ll have a proper drink,” I manage to reply. “No, not right now. Tea or coffee?” His tone has changed. Why has his tone changed? “You know I don’t drink tea.” He smiles then, “Aha, you’re back to me then. Just as well I made you coffee so,” he’s laughing again. 

I hear him come across to me, hear the mugs being put down, but mostly I hear those boots on the kitchen floor. Dare I? I almost knock him over pushing my chair out, the legs scraping hard against the floor, a sound I despise normally, but I have to get to him before he sits.  I glance up at his confused face, My heart is beating so fast I’m sure he can hear it. I kneel, both knees cracking at my efforts. The sound of a short sharp breath, more than a gasp but less than a heart attack. I look up, my hands reaching for his feet. He says my name again, I can feel it. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore but I manage to pull the laces free on one, then the other. He has no idea, but I’m soaked by what I’m doing. It’s like a deep flood between my legs, one I’m sure he’ll hear when I go to stand up. I pull one boot free, then the other, kneeling before him. I can feel him say my name again. Shit, how do I explain this one. “No shoes in the house, remember?”

Legs like jelly manage to stand and escape to the hallway, my short steps like slaps against the tiles in an effort to get away, just for a moment. A whole world of thoughts screaming inside my brain, all being ignored because of the wetness between my thighs. My name again, followed by a chair against the tiles. Pitpat back to the kitchen, then silence. Surely he can hear my heart. I’m afraid to look, terrified of what I’ll see. So I don’t. My name is on his lips again. “Talk to me, please, for once the silence is killing me.” A long slow drink of my warm hug, I hear him sigh as I swallow, then I return his sigh. “I don’t know what to say, I’m sorry.” I hear him move his chair closer, feel his thigh against mine, smell that glorious intoxicating scent that’s all him as his body invades my space. “Then we can just be for a while?” he asks me. “Yes please,” I reply. 

We sit, the silence interspersed with sounds of sips, some sighs, the occasional throat clearing to say something but then silence again as words aren’t forthcoming. The silence is loud, a screaming tormenting sound as my thoughts cascade through my head fighting against a tirade of abuse from between my legs telling my brain to shut up and behave. God it was loud. He takes my hand and I notice he’s standing, I follow as he leads me through the house, my pitpats met by the softened thuds of this gentle giant in front of me.

A long low creak tells me we’re in the sitting room. A gentle tug and I sit alongside him, an action quickly changed as he says my name, firmly this time, chastising me, and pulls me onto his lap. Many creaks, much readjusting, some laughing, and a long low groan later and we find a comfortable position. I find myself cocooned against him, my head against his chest, his head on mine, one of his arms wrapped around me to stop me wriggling and moving, the other in my lap with my own, fingers locking squeezing and releasing. My mind begins to calm, the constant thud of his heart beneath me a reminder this is real and not a dream, the touch of his hands holding me and reassuring me I’m here and so is he, and that beautiful heady scent, a mix of soap, fabric softener and that musky scent so uniquely him.

Another sound creeps in, the music I’d forgotten about. Lyrics claw at me, take away my security in just “being”. I don’t know if I’m what he wants, I don’t know if he’s what I want, and that horrible sound of dread starts filling me up. He senses the change in me somehow and I hear and feel the low rumble of my name once more from him. I turn his hand over in mine, tracing lines across his palm, rubbing the callouses and finding scars. I have no idea how long we’d sat there, but his hand finds my face and we both realise it’s wet with tears. My name again, I could listen to him say it forever and a day. I look up and smile, concern meets me, those eyes questioning as his thumb tries to rub away tears I’m barely aware of.

He leans his forehead on mine, and I find myself half underneath him as he shifts his body from under me to beside me, one arm still cradling me softly, the other holding my face gently. I hear his breath, feel it on my lips, the faint smell of coffee still lingering. I miss the sound of his heart to calm me. My name again. And then the first sweet taste of his lips on mine. 

He finally allowed me to move my arms, my hands reaching around him, sliding along his strong back. I tried to move my head back but he clearly wasn’t quite ready to meet my eyes just yet as he held firm to the fistful of my hair wrapped in his fingers, that glorious scent of him filling me tucked into his neck as I was. 

I’ve noticed his physique before, it’s difficult not to, but to touch it, feel it tense and relax under my fingertips - there are no words for that. It felt like each individual sinew of muscle, ligament and tendon existed underneath that shirt, long pathways to follow from the base of his spine to the tops of his shoulders where I found new ones to explore. A new tense strand to rub and soften, yielding under the pressure of my hands. 

I made circles and patterns as I felt my way, sometimes it was welcomed, others he tried to dodge, some gave me a chuckle and a wriggle. Each time though I found my hands returned to his waist. So i rested them there for a moment, stood still as we were, but felt my own heart begin to race, my breath go shallow and quicken. I tugged at his shirt, emboldened by the invisibility of his hold on me. One side came free easily, but he tensed, a lot. “Tell me again”, he said. I froze. I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to say, but I tugged hard on the other side and repeated the only words I’d said to this point: “I’ve missed you too?” 

My hands found warm firm flesh, and suddenly everything changed. As urgent as my hands were to find their way up, I slowly touched him. The hands that held me moved and changed position. I was against a wall instead of standing in the middle of the hall and was incredibly grateful of the support. Still I couldn’t raise my head as he towered above me, it being propped against the wall now and that body of his pressed against mine while his own hands explored me.

And then I felt it, his hot breath replaced by warm lips. His hands rocked my hips, thumbs tucked down inside the hand of my jeans finding a home perfectly laced inside my hipbones. His palms circled my pelvis like they’ve always been there holding me together. His fingers dug into me, clenching and releasing, pulling me closer to him every time. 

Doubt crept in about then. Sanity was leaving me rapidly. He’d thought about this, I hadn’t. But his lips, oh how they danced across my neck and my shoulder. His teeth, his tongue, nibbling, grazing, biting. He wasn’t asking anymore. Rushes of emotion, adtenaline, and deep aching arousal are filling me up. I need to stop this, soon. 

My hands tighten against him, trying to push him off, his body pushes harder into mine in a negative reply. I can feel him against me now, feel what this is doing to him. I try again, knowing fully this isn’t what I want, but turn my head this time and drop my own lips to his neck hoping to reassure him. It works, though I almost don’t want to stop now that my lips have touched his skin. 

His hands move, one returning to the small of my back and oh so gently holding me to him, the other slides lower and cups my ass lifting me to him. “Tell me again, please,” he says. I smile against his shoulder, taking a deep breath to take in his scent, melting against him completely. “I’ve missed you too.” A long breath, “Are you sure?” he asks me. “Very much so,” I reply without hesitation.

Slowly, almost painfully, he starts to raise his head. His body starts to pull away from mine and immediately I miss it. This giant before me uncurls himself from around me and I’m reminded just how much he must have been bent double to reach me and hold me as he did. my hands move to his front and cheekily slide under his shirt, splayed fingers wide across his belly, moving to a soft fuzziness on his chest which feels almost wrong against the hardness beneath. 

My eyes are where my hands are, I darent look up yet. I just want to touch him, and have him touch me. I feel him tremble as my hands go lower, one of his coming to grasp my wrist and hold mine still. I still haven’t met his eyes. He brings my hand higher, holds it flat against his heart. I can feel it beating against the palm of my hand, a slow steady rhythm calming my nerves yet the sight of his flesh revealed underneath heightening my arousal as inch by inch his shirt is pulled up further.

I can feel a burning on my head, my face, my body as his eyes search me. He takes a breath beneath my fingers, a long unsteady one, one of those ones that trembles a little. His heart goes a little faster, I can feel it. His other hand leaves my ass, slowly letting me back down, and finds its way to my face cupping that cheek instead. I lean into that tough calloused hand, his thumb stroking me, searching me, arousing me, feel him find my lips, the roughness of his fingertip leaving hot flesh in its wake.

He finds my chin, and slowly raises my head until my eyes meet his. “Tell me just one more time,” he asks of me. His thumb is back on my lips again. Those lines etched on his face seem hard, unhappy almost. His eyes are unreadable, quite simply searching my own. “I’ve missed you too”, I finally reply, and feel his heart jump in reply. Neither one of us moves. So we just look. 

Eyes blearily opening, a quick check on the time, one of those long luxurious stretches that extends and eases every muscle from a long deep slumber followed by an involuntary squeak as it comes to a climax, “just five more minutes” I tell myself as I bury myself deep down under the fluffy covers and pull a pillow in tight for a morning cuddle. 

Finally I rise, taking my time sitting on the edge of the bed and relishing in the feeling of the deep pile beneath my feet, my toes sinking in as I eventually make my way downstairs. A small furry body wrapping itself in and out between my legs giving me a welcome like he hasn’t seen me in days, his chocolate eyes dancing as much as his little body in anticipation of the day ahead and, of course, the sights and smells of outside while we wait for the warm hugs to brew in the coffee pot. Mmmmm it smells good, rich and nutty and oh so good. A whine brings me back, and reminds me that our morning walk awaits. But the oven needs filling first, a chore filled with a deep sadness as I’m reminded of being alone: My first Christmas without my children. 

Our morning walk was quiet, that low winter sun glinting blindingly off of surfaces, lighting up the world around us, the air heavy with - I don’t know what actually, but it was suffocating. I thought he’d be at my place, our place, but it was empty, so I sat and listened to the sea with that warm furry body curled up on my lap. He’s been absent for days now, just a message to say sorry he missed us. I stare down at my hand, thinking of the hand that’s missing which has become the key to my tears in our place. I rub the smooth surface of the cold damp rock beneath me, and realise it’s the place he sits. A whine from pupper, and then home we go, the sound of children waking up and discovering presents ringing in our ears. 

A waft of Christmas hits when I open the door, herbs, warm spices, red wine mingling with rich stock slow cooking lamb shanks with rosemary… A sigh, the pupper not me, and I remember he’s still on the leash while I just stand there with him dutifully sitting by my feet. I laugh at his submission, and envy instantly what he gets from me. So I unclip him then head for a shower. 

And so the day goes, a good book, a pupper curled up snoring alongside me, the sound of a fire crackling interspersed with mellow tunes while the glorious smells of the season circle us, alone. 

I must have nodded off as I’m startled by the sound of knocking, loud knocking, urgent raps against the door. The pupper is already there but his tail is wagging, probably just a neighbour that forgot something. But suddenly there he is, those broad shoulders and his magnificently etched face are right in front of me taking up the height and width of the doorframe while the wind howls through the house. Delighted to see him, I smile and welcome him in yet his eyes I can’t read. He steps inside. I close the door. But he doesn’t move. I can’t hold his gaze, it’s too intense for me. “Is everything alright?”, I ask. Yet all he replies is “No”. So I look up again. I can’t read him.  “What’s wrong?”, is all I can muster. “The scent”, is all I get back.

All of a sudden I find myself wrapped in his arms, tight against him, feeling tiny and fragile despite my own height. His mouth close to my ear, I’m told in finite detail of “the scent”. Every nerve in my body is alive, goosebumps all over, I can feel each follicle on my scalp as he cradles the back of my head holding it in place on his shoulder as he tells me of “the scent”. I feel the strength of him as his other hand so gentle yet so firm against the hollow of my back holding my body against his as his voice dips to a whisper as he tell me of “the scent”. I can feel the urgency of what he’s telling me, I sense his frustration as he apologises for his absence and the reason behind it, the heat of his words and the fire of his emotion a blatant truth as he tells me of “the scent” of me, his disappointment rings true as his body sags as he tells me he couldn’t see me while the teen was away because he didn’t trust himself anymore, and then his urgency as he holds me tight again and begs me not to take away “the scent” from him because of his confession.

And then just the sound of his breath, fast and hard, almost breathless from his soliloquy. I can physically feel his heart pound in his chest against my own. I’m speechless and immobile, my arms hanging like twin rag dolls at my side. I try to move them but feel him tense and stiffen in resistance. I try to pull my head away to look at him, needing to see him, needing to look into those eyes. His fingers dig deeper into my hair, taking a fistful as he holds me tighter than before. And so I speak my truth, a whisper in his ear this time, the only honest words I can think of to say:

”I’ve missed you too”. 

Clear bright blinding sunshine, a very satisfying warm hug (coffee for those who don’t know me) crisp fresh cold morning air flooding my lungs almost suffocating me with each breath its being so utterly filled with purity and cleanliness. My walking buddy seemed to be just as deep in thought of the day’s tasks ahead as I was, but we still savoured the sunshine despite his mirth in ridiculing the pupper’s latest fashion (it’s December, he has his Christmas jumper on these days lol). 

We’ve had some very broken weather of late, temperatures plummeting rapidly within days from our usual temperate climes leaving us frantically seeking out varied layers of insulation so unprepared were we in anticipating the winter chill. But today, today I needed more. I wasn’t sure whether I could bring him there, but She was calling me for days but it was too dangerous to take on the climb with waves too angry to see reason. But I invited him, apologising in advance for what was to come and I believe he now knows me well enough to realise I wasn’t speaking of the climb. 

So we went, slipping and tripping and half-hanging the pupper then laughing hysterically when he decided to perch on his shoulder like a parrot instead of braving the rocks parcour-style like he usually does. All too suddenly, we were there. My spot. And I breathed her in as she roared and spat her anger at me, she screamed and I absorbed. Her roar was so fierce it shook the soft unyielding rock we had planted ourselves on. Her salt-laden voice demanded my tears, and she wasn’t disappointed; as I cried, the relief was incredible. I hadn’t realised how much I needed Her, missed Her, craved Her. Pupper was as faithful as ever, his small warm body curled up into my own like a hot water bottle on my lap, my hands locked around him holding him close, his breathing so calming as his little body rose and fell, his warm chocolate eyes never leaving mine checking up on me constantly. 

And then I got a fright. A warm rough hand covered mine, peeled my fingers away from my little pupper and wrapped themselves through mine. A strong arm wrapped itself around my shoulder and pulled us both in close, the gentleness behind the strength softening and growing in equal measure. I stiffened at first, turned to look at his purpose, searching that deeply weathered face for clues behind his intent. And there they were, wet trails matching my own falling freely as his chest heaved and the sobs became audible. I yielded, I softened, I allowed the comfort, I dropped my head on his shoulder and we sat there and cried, two people so lost in their own grief and sadness yet bound together by it. 

We left once our hands became numb and the tears had finally stopped, clambering once again like toddlers trying to manoeuvre a step for the first time, all legs and arms with, of course, the new parrot perched throughout in his incredible bright red jumper. Suddenly conversation was intense and rapid, his plans for battening down the hatches ahead of our red level storm heading for us tonight. I gave advice where I could and took some in return, each of us bringing our own experiences to bear. We discussed who he was to look after and who I was, and whilst I would love to say we thought of the same thing together, in all actuality it was all him lol. We’d divide and conquer and do it all together. 

So it came to pass that a man and a woman and a little dog in a bright red jumper spent the day stacking firing by hearths for neighbours and friends, the intoxicating smell of well-seasoned timber fresh in my nostrils from one house to the next, a competition of who could recognise what type of tree an on-going battle between us. I laughed at his wearing gloves to fill buckets of coal, while he laughed at the handprints all over my jeans from wiping the same coal off on them every time.

Some milk, home-baked bread, Spanish tortillas and what will be much-needed candles were my contributions to most houses, his being small camping stoves and oil lanterns the like of which I’ve only ever seen hung in my grandfather’s sheds many moons ago. Each house had “a warm cup” for us, leading to many gates being climbed for urgent relief between houses and bets being made of who’d need to go next. Stories of “the olden days” when lanterns were normal and the antics they used them for were plentiful, laughter echoed from house to house, and some six hours later I remembered I had a child to collect from the school bus and my own house to sort. We parted ways, however, with a promise to help at each other’s houses as soon as I was back.

Thoughts of her excitement filled me up driving to collect her as I imagined the happiness power cuts bring to our house: neighbours calling for something warm to eat or drink and staying for cards and board games, some mulled wine maybe simmering on the stove to warm the cockles of the heart before heading back out in the wind tomorrow, the teenager holding centre stage as she sits and observes, soaking in the atmosphere and sketching away in the corner silently to eventually emerge beaming at having captured someone’s expression to perfection through charcoal or pencil strokes, each person waiting in utter anticipation for the gift they know they’ll go home with - another memory. 

Back to reality with a bang when the teen asked where I was going turning up his road. I quickly explained our day, and she was visibly a little put out she’d missed the antics of the though she did perk up when I told her school was cancelled tomorrow. A very welcome smell of warm hugs met me as he opened the door with a smile, but then slightly troubled lines appeared as he saw my daughter disappearing just as quickly as they’d appeared but noticed all the same. Grumpy teenager turned the charm on and had him in stitches laughing as she accused him of stealing her jobs and asked if he was going to steal her hard-earned pocket money next. The hard lines carved into that face curved upwards as he lit up from the inside and teased her back that the price of fuel being what it is nowadays, he would need it badly after the day’s work. We had coffee, the teen spilled her excitement along with her coffee and explained what storms were for us while I sat and soaked in the two toddlers telling stories and comparing notes, a vast age difference bridged by happiness of what a storm could mean. 

Time was against us as we hauled and drew in wood, coal, water (electric pumps are a disaster, he’s just learned lol) and I blushed as the teen handed over candles and bread and tortilla. “You next”. I’d forgotten us. The pupper betrayed me and climbed into his jeep instead of mine, the teen following behind in equal betrayal but I did smile as they pulled away. 

Work came first as dark clouds rolled in along with dusk and a bitterly cold wind. As the fuel came in, I set a quick fire in the hearth and turned on the oven to reheat dinner prepared early this morning. Steady supplies of wood came through the door, me stacking as the other two made a game of pretending to be a conveyor belt with the pupper designated to bringing me individual sticks of kindling from the pile in the shed. Buckets of coal followed soon after and suddenly my home smells like Christmas as that glorious smell of timber permeates every room. 

He was all set to leave, washing his hands and still teasing my chuckling teen from the bathroom. I blocked his exit in a bold move and asked him to join us for dinner, a request he gratefully accepted courtesy of the glorious smells of a luxurious casserole now simmering in the oven. The teen held centre stage, hiding in the kitchen sofa wrapped up in a blanket with the pupper monitoring her progress carefully as I heard the familiar scratchings of charcoal on card, his head tilting side to side in appreciation of her efforts as we chatted about the recipe I was about to dish up. I set the table slowly, allowing her the time I knew she needed as her beautiful eyes scanned the face I now know so well. And just as I put the casserole in the middle of the table, she shyly brought forward her picture for his approval, eyes still searching his face though this time seeking approval instead of analysing each line and feature. 

The compliments flew, her face alight with joy as was his. I barely glanced to be honest, sometimes fearful of just what she captures that others might not want shown. But as I dished up, I realised the conversation was quite technical and I no longer entirely understood. Realisation dawned. Another artist. 

And so I sit here at 9pm writing to you all with a fire roaring in the hearth, a warm home, a belly overly-full of casserole, a day’s work done and a sense of contentment at what we achieved as I listen to familiar scratchings on two cards instead of one and quiet mutterings between a man and a teen as they discuss the intricacies of drawing the pupper snoozing peacefully on my lap while we await the storm with joyous anticipation of sitting it out with friends, family, neighbours and quite possibly some people we never knew before it hit. Then we’ll do it all over again when we pull together to tidy up what we didn’t tie down, re-roofing sheds and replacing roof tiles not destined to see another storm like Storm Barra. An early Christmas present from Mother Nature this year I think. 

MLP

I’ve been gone too long… So I’ve taken my time out to heal, truly heal and find belief once more in the male of the species. What came as an unexpected surprise in this time was how much I need to thank the ones who made me need that very time not for forgiveness, but for acceptance - acceptance of myself. And so, I dedicate this blog to you: 

To the one that pushed me too far to the point I had sub drop for days and never even asked if I was ok, thank you. 

To the one who altered my own moral compass to the point no magnetic field could ever fix it (me) again, thank you. 

To the one who who belittled my sense of self, my sense of who I believe myself to be, thank you. 

To the one who faked his own death and let me grieve for him to the point I was refused entry having paid for flights and accommodation only to be told “no such person has died” after six hours of interviews, thank you. (Glad to see you created a new profile btw!) 

To the one who said he was separated but is actually planning the next phase of his life with his darling wife, thank you. (Finding out on Facebook was an added bonus!)

To the world’s most indecisive Dom I have ever come across who foisted not only my own decisions back on me but also his own, thank you. 

To the one who spammed my inbox to overflowing with utter drivel turning to degradation when you didn’t get an immediate response, thank you. 

To the one at the outset who chose me as his newest toy to play with for self-gratification knowing damn full well I wasn’t a unicorn for his lifestyle but fed on my own frenzy, thank you. 

To the rest, thank you. 

I am me now because of you. I was once someone who just wanted to be herself. I am now a woman who knows herself. Thank you. 

Much love, 

MLP

Thank you

Stop panicking, no I didn’t have one…! But I have a very big question to ask of you all, and I can only hope you will indulge me. 

So a statement first: I have never had a one-night stand. Yes, there have been opportunities. Yes, I’ve fooled around. But, I’ve never ever had a one-night stand.

A bit of background to why I’m asking this: first off, no I’m not looking at anyone in particular, no I haven’t found someone, no I haven’t even remotely considered the implications to be brutally honest. But is is something I’m considering doing, just because I haven’t really. I’m quite unsure of myself at the moment, but I may have the opportunity in the coming weeks should I pursue this. Also, it wouldn’t be a kink-one-night stand either - just plain old vanilla sex. I suppose I’m looking on it as furthering myself in the life of kink as I have had many offers of playmates without sex by some fabulous people who understand that the two may not go hand in hand for me personally (also something I hadn’t considered before), and so believe I should try one before trying the two together for my own mental well-being. No, this isn’t something I’m jumping into either but is genuinely something I’ve been also considering from a psychological perspective.

So now comes the question(s):  

Is this something you’ve done/do? How do you just go for pleasure without knowing the person deeply? Is there pleasure? I’ve always always wanted that connection with someone because, as a sub, my greatest pleasure comes from giving them pleasure. But I’m left with all these questions of “what if”. I’m also absolutely terrified of getting attached! 

Sooooooooo… Indulge me, if you will, and give your ten cents to probably the most ridiculous question on here, but one which is actually quite serious for me in all honesty. Dos and Don’ts gratefully accepted! 

MLP

Oh my gosh, I think I’m broken and not in a good way at all. Poor dog isn’t even talking to me after that. I thought going up was bad, coming down was worse. No views observed, no enjoyment, just a workout. He talked, I glared at him. 

There are no words to describe the pain searing through muscles I didn’t even know I had, my poor ass is on fire. Hmmmm, maybe I should work with this for a while…. Playtime? 

MLP