Good girl linn

What if Ive done it all wrong?

What if in trying to find my own peace 

I ruined that peace for others.

What if my peace can’t be found?

Do I just keep going?

Do I just walk away?

Do I forget the fantasies, the dreams?

When do you know how far to push?

When to stop?

What if at the end of the day it’s all been for nothing.

What if I never find that man to protect me beyond all else?

What if that strong man to give me pleasure and safety doesn’t exist?

What if he’s just part of that fantasy?

What if……..

There’s a space between getting better

and I can’t take another day.

It’s a quiet brutal tug of war

A constant swing between holding on

and letting go.

One moment you’re clinging to hope,

forcing yourself to stay strong a little longer.

The next, you’re completely empty, 

crushed under a weight you’re not sure

you can carry anymore.

You wake up ready to fight

but fall asleep completely defeated.

You exist between healing and breaking

forced to survive the very day that tears you apart 

while demanding you stay alive.

The most terrifying part is

which version of you is going to win today.

Sometimes you have to air the thing that haunts your dreams.

This is mine.

They say it’s called an accident but you run it over and over in your mind trying to remember if there was anything you could have done differently. Your memory though still has gaps. Like what did you eat for breakfast that morning? Did you tell your daughters you loved them before walking out the door? What you do remember is this…..

You loaded the two year old quarter horse into the livestock trailer, to deliver him back to his owner after his eight weeks of training. You hopped in your truck and pulled out for the five hour drive. It was a sunny day, actually perfect temperature outside. It was an uneventful trip, until it wasn’t.

The semi was halfway around you, going 70mph on the interstate, when two of his tires blew. You heard the bang and flinched. It all happened so fast, yet was in slow motion at the same time. The semi’s trailer swerved into the side of your livestock trailer. All you could think was how spooked the horse was. You held the truck steady but the trailer came around and you jack knifed, throwing the truck sideways in front of the semi, the last thing you remember was seeing the front of the semi coming straight at you.

You were in and out of consciousness but remember a kind man’s voice saying they’d get you out, but another sound kept piercing your mind. What was that? You couldn’t pinpoint what was making that horrible sound. Then you realized, it was the horse, he wasn’t dead, all you could think was someone put him out of his misery, please.

You woke almost 3 weeks later. Broken pelvis, both femurs broken, 3 cracked lower vertebrae, 6 broken ribs, a broken wrist, severe concussion, spleen removed and about half your teeth missing. The semi had went up over the top of your truck crushing the cab down & pinning you bent in half around the steering wheel.

It’s not the pain of the injuries that haunts you. People helped fill in the gaps of your memory. It’s the flashes when you were in a coma, the horse’s dying sound, the metal screeching, the thought that you were going to die. The fact the doctors weren’t sure you’d walk again.

So 3 years later, every time you get up in the saddle to ride your horse, you laugh at those doctors. Not that it was easy to get here, not that you don’t still have pain,  but that somewhere you found the strength to defy the doctors words.

Now if someone could take away the part that haunts your dreams.

She was newly single after a boring marriage. She decided to move out into the country away from the noise. She wanted peace. She found a small cabin next to a lake with a porch swing to enjoy the sunsets. She was happy but her body was restless. She longed for strong arms to wrap her up. She craved heat and a man’s mouth to kiss & swirl her tongue around. She thought of all these things while laying in her bed at night. She listened to the sounds of the night but in the distance she heard a new sound. A howling, sad sounding, lonely. She walked out on her porch in her thin white nightgown, the moon illuminating her pert breasts, the nipples straining against the fabric. The sound caused an aching down low in her stomach and lower still into her clit. She started to throb, she could feel the wetness begin to slide from her pussy. She reached her fingers down into the wetness. She moaned as she felt how hot and wet she was. Suddenly, there were eyes in the darkness. She froze, he started to circle her, getting closer and closer. Was this a man or a beast? He was huge but she wasn’t afraid. Suddenly he was on her, shoving her up against the porch railing. He pinned her arms above her head, he ran his tongue down her throat, lower to her nipples. He suck them & nipped them through the thin material. She moaned & he shoved her to her knees. He had his cock in his hand. It was throbbing with veins protruding down the massive length. She reached out, grabbed it with her small hand, and then took the head into her mouth. The beast moaned, she took it more & more into her mouth. Her juices were running down onto her thighs. He could smell her and it made him more primal. She took his cock down into her throat, gagging on its length. She looked up at him with big brown eyes and he nearly came down her throat. He grabbed her, bent her over the railing. He rammed his cock into her in one hard push. She screamed out as he began to fuck her harder and harder, faster and faster. His balls slapping against her clit with each thrust. He was wild with hunger now, he held her hips as he pounded her pussy. Until she could no longer hold her screams in and she came around his cock, squeezing her pussy around him taking him over the edge. He thrust once more and pumped his hot cum into her. So much that it ran out and down her thighs. After his cock stopped twitching, he turned her & kissed her long & deep. He stared into her eyes that reflected the bright moon.

She woke the next morning in her bed. She reached out thinking he would be there. She was alone. She got out of bed and felt the soreness between her legs. It wasn’t just a dream was it?

Quietly tired is what I’ve become,

I don’t talk about when I’m hurting, not to family or friends,

I’ve learned to break in silence, to dry my own tears, to keep moving,

On the outside, I still laugh, I still show up, I still function,

But on the inside, I am worn out,

Even when I need someone, I don’t reach out anymore,

It’s easier to pretend I am fine than to explain a pain 

that nobody seems to understand.

I like the version of us no one else sees.

How we talk and joke and disappear into our own little world.

How there are parts of me that only you understand.

How there are parts of you that only I get to keep secret.

I like that when I’m talking to you, everything slows down.

The people, the noise, the expectations of the world.

Everything just fades away and all that’s left is us choosing each other

in the natural and most unique of ways.

It’s strange when you think of all the people you will interact with in your life. Some no more than mere moments, others your whole life. Why do we cross paths with the people we do? Is it a higher power? Or are we all just randomly wandering and it’s the luck of the draw when we interact? How do you explain someone coming into your life at just the right moment? One day they’re just there, just when you were ready to quit. Some might say they’re angels, sent to help with your burdens..

I believe there is a reason, that it’s not just random. Why it happens though is anybody’s guess. Don’t question it. Don’t overthink it. Just go with it. They’re leading you somewhere. Somewhere you might not understand or maybe they’re leading you home.

He messages her a hello. 
And so it begins.
A conversation on a screen. 
At first it’s platonic, vanilla, getting to know one another. 
Then the conversations get more intense, more exciting, more erotic. 
Her heart flutters when she sees his name. 
His words touch her deep inside. 
He can bring her to orgasm so easily.
How is this connection possible? 
How can she feel so much, without ever, hearing, His voice.

She sits with her friends, all complaining about their husbands. She listens, but doesn’t understand why they complain about the sex. In her mind, she thinks about the cock she wishes she had waiting for her at home. The one she would worship.  Licking, sucking, stroking it as often as she could.  God how she misses that. The cock she would shove as far into her throat as possible. The one that she would suck every drop of cum from.
Her friends would think she was crazy if they knew how she felt. 
She remembers how luscious it felt in her hands as it hardened. She remembers the salty taste of the pre cum on the tip of her tongue. She remembers the moans she elicited from him as she swallowed him into her throat. She remembers how wet her pussy was as she sucked him deeper. She remembers how she worked him into a frenzy until he shot his cum down her throat. 
She stays quiet as they continue to complain. She sits with her own thoughts with sadness on her face. But she remembers.