is me is really me

My heart dropped when I saw the missed call on my mobile phone. He doesn’t usually call my mobile directly, ever. Unless he needs to reach me, to tell me he isn’t going to make it. It hasn’t happened often, given the three years or so, but any time it does, it slays me. I know it shouldn’t. Ever. His time isn’t his own, especially when it’s me doing the traveling.

Nervously I call him back and the moment I hear the tenor of his voice; cheerful and anticipatory, I breathe a sigh of relief. He’s on his way…

I hear the keycard in the door and my heart immediately lifts and when I turn to see him walk through the door all I can’t help but feel the smile on my face reach all the way up to my eyes. Even after all this time. Not caring that I’m wearing my geeky girl glasses or slept in jammies, I rush forward, desperate to be near him. To inhale his scent. To have his arms wrapped around me, tightly. To taste him, to feel every sensation coursing through my being. And then, it’s up on my tiptoes to kiss him and in that nano-second, I catch the look in his cerulean blue eyes and I can’t help but gasp as my panties get wetter and my heart leaps into my throat. My nipples ache for his attention and my body vibrates in anticipation. Before I know it, I’m on the edge of that precipice. Don’t pretend you don’t know the one I’m talking about. The one in which you look over in awe and just as you reach out to balance yourself, your body has decided to pitch itself head first. Yes. That precipice. Each and every time with him. Every. Damn. Time. Over and over and over again.