I can’t sleep. Again. No, I mean, as usual. I have had an intimate relationship with Insomnia since my pre-teen years. Most of the time, it doesn’t bother me. Sometime’s I swear my soul is dying and I’m begging for a decent r.e.m. cycle. And other times, I welcomed him with open arms, taking great pride in being able to balance many things and get projects done in the middle of the night when the rest of the household is asleep.
My doctor’s have been very clear with me over the last few months. I have got to sleep. I need to reduce my stress, even my good stress and repair. Tonight, tonight I can’t sleep, I’ve made the cake for one child’s birthday, prepped for tomorrow, and took care of some items for my oldest. Darling husband is sleeping and I’m listening to the storm rolling through.
I can’t help but think of him. My long distance lover who I didn’t get to interact with at all today. I knew this was going to be the case, given his role in his community and the community event for a very good cause. Still, he knows how much connection of some sort, any sort, is to me and I grinned when I saw the simple email he sent saying good morning. I was positively giddy when he sent an unexpected text of a picture of him at the event. And his good night mail to me made me blush.
And so, as the rain tries to lull me, I think back to the time before last in which we had several hours together over the course of a few days in the same general area. And I *sigh*. It had to be one of our best moments together, ever. I don’t know if it’s because we are both on a similar page in regard to our pleasure. Or me knowing that he has a pattern to his travel routine and by knowing it, I can work within the construct of those boundaries for us to have a lovely time. Whether it’s dining at the local pub and enjoying trivia night. Or catching lunch before he heads to his presentation and enjoying time with him in public as friends. And of course, the amazing sex that fans the flames of desire. Flames that don’t seem to fade or even flicker. My god, I thought I was horny, lustful and yearning before I met him.
If only. I had no idea how much more sexually wanting and open I’ve become because of him. Because he genuinely desires me and lusts for me as me. He isn’t judgmental and he is so incredibly sexy that I can’t help but feel desirable, sexy and free to be wanton when I’m with him. By knowing him. Whether or not he would spend the night wasn’t the point. The point was purely a selfish indulgence on my part. And it was spectacular. And worth every damn penny.
He fucked me up against the floor to ceiling windows looking out over the water. He fucked my thoroughly on the couch and then I scrambled on top to ride him hard, cowgirl style until my thighs gave out and I had squirted on his belly. And the glass shower, and the two person tub, and the desk and the bed.
The recollections sustain me and also kill me. Literally. And so here I am, wide awake, recalling very vivid memories of him from not so long ago.
*sigh*
is me is really me 