And so another blogger is moving along. It’s not just about him but also about a promise he made to someone important to him. Someone who has left a handprint on his heart and has shown him what could be. That he has written his farewell so beautifully only makes me hopeful that I haven’t heard the last of voice albeit a newer voice sometime in the future. Farewell for now Jason…
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moments. strung together. virtually. in real life. moments.
it’s been so long. in her mind it’s been forever. walking down the long hallway, she’s distracted by the jumbled thoughts tumbling about her mind when the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and a buzzing rushes through her being. looking up, a gasp escapes as she feels her smile grow wider and her knees go weak. before she can take a breath he’s right in front of her. even with her blue suede heels on she has to look up. and in that nanosecond her heart drops into her stomach.
and then the freefall she experiences each an every first time they kiss. and they are kissing. he’s kissing her and she’s kissing him. she isn’t sure if the tears that threaten to spill over are tears of the built up longing or the tears of sadness that are sure to come in less than 30-hours later when they say farewell. again. just as her knees buckle his arms go around her, supporting her, pulling her closer into him. she’s missed him. dammit. she’s missed herself with him. she’s missed. this.
she recalls the sound of the door closing and her briefcase barely comes to rest on the couch when he pulls her close again. falling. that’s all she is aware of. the sensation of falling. the blur of her dress hitting the floor and the way her body responds to his low growl of approval at the sight of her wearing the nipple-less bra just for him. no mention of the most recent surgical scars or other changes due to treatments. unbridled desire and the need to touch her. to taste her. to reassure her that he is indeed real.
they finally part long enough to say “hey” as she takes in their temporary haven. five. three. five.
Blogging is a funny thing and it’s most definitely a personal thing. It’s not uncommon to find a blog, a voice that resonates and you follow them, reach out and connect. Some bloggers are prolific, committed, dedicated. Posting at least once a day. Others are consistent in some manner and then there are others that are consistently inconsistent. Unless blogging is the source of someone’s income, some bloggers take a break or go on hiatus and some decide that it’s time to move onward from whatever it was that motivated them to begin blogging in the first place. Sometimes we get a heads up or a farewell post, but more often than not, folks have to go, for whatever reason.
Such is the case with Complicit Grace. A blogger I started to follow before I started this blog. A fellow former HR executive on a journey with many side trips. A woman finding her voice and what a powerful voice it is. Honest, genuine, vulnerable and strong. I don’t know if she’s still lurking and reading through everyone’s blogs or if she is completely detaching from the inter-webs for a while. I can only say that I hope she has found the strength required to move forward, that she’s been able to run like the wind in throughout the Portland area, that she’s found peace but more importantly that she is okay. I am going to miss her. Truly.
the feel of his skin next to mine. the rough hewn of the hair that covers his body and the softness of his full beard between my thighs. or at the back of my neck before traveling down my back. or the delicious curve of the head of his cock, smooth, silky, hard. the way my lips wrap around his hard shaft and his hips twitch and buck.
his scent. clean. him. mixed with mine. our scent. the way it lingers in the air. my desire to submit to his every whim. the need to feel him. hard. harder. more.
the reverberation of life coursing through my body as reclaims what is his. thoroughly. completely. my mind blank as my only desire is to follow his lead and discover more of the me he sees. he knows. he owns.
she waits anxiously for the moment she will see him again. just to look up and see him. really see him in the same breathing space as she.the thought makes her gasp out loud as her panties go moist. again. she twitches silently in her seat. too worked up to relax and too distracted by desire to care that her pheromones are dancing all about her, the swell of her breasts in her sweater only made more alluring by her hard nipples straining against her bra.
the alpha in her, her every day ego, her id, wants to run upon him as soon as he enters the lobby and throw her arms around his neck as she gets on her tiptoes to take him in. her lips trembling in that nanosecond before she kisses him, tastes him again. but she knows all too well that the submissive vixen, the one only he has been able to draw out will buckle in lust and immediately seek his permission to approach him. to touch him. to taste him.
the inner turmoil will excite her. will rev up her sex juices even more as she figuratively falls to her knees in silence, waiting for permission to take his delicious cock in her mouth. as she realizes she is exactly where she needs to be.
bruised, broken, repaired and beating as it is. grateful. thankful. blessed.
This article has been making the rounds of the various parent’s groups, support groups and other social media outlets. It resonates. Literally.
photo credit: Liora K photography
is me is really me 