kissing. him. i miss him. think of him. always.
married long distance lovers
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.
the ache is ever present. the need. the lust. the desire. the craving. for his scent. his taste. his weight upon my body. him.
thinking of you. missing you. loving you.
posted to drafts folder march 1, 2014
the sound of the driving rain against my office window reminded me of the way the water hits the shower door. As if begging for our attention as you kiss me, leaving me breathless and thirsting for more.
it’s hard to believe that it’s been so long since we’ve been together in those moments before we part yet again. I realize that last year, was a unique year for the two of us with travel schedules that synched up more often than not. this year, well now this year is different for an entirely different reason. isn’t it?
and yet, it doesn’t make me miss you any less. it doesn’t make me not long for the sound of the water…no. if anything the longing permeates throughout my being
continuing on the musical riff of today….i. have. no. words.
beautiful goodbye by richard marx
in the middle of writing three separate posts as follow-up to comments on ms. vincent, thewomaninvisible and foreverdreamingof love’s respective blogs i heard richard marx’s interview on a local radio station out this way and i admit hearing him talk not about his new album but about his process, where he is in his life and decisions he’s made got me thinking. to be clear, the station he was on doesn’t typically play his music and they were smart enough to do their research on him and come away with questions that revealed a lot about what he’s been up to (way more than i ever would have known re: writing, producing, etc.).
curious, i went to listen to some of the songs on his new album and after the first song i bought it outright. i can’t and won’t speak to any one’s personal music choices etc but i will say that it resonates for me. deeply. specifically tracks:
- whatever we started
- suddenly
- beautiful goodbye
i found the official you-tube video for whatever we started.
i looked up and suddenly he was here. right in front of me. in. real. life. and yet again, as my breath caught in my throat and i look into his cerulean blue eyes i found myself at a loss for words.
still. even now. every first time. and when he smiles and the blush reaches his eyes as they darken with lust. my heart beats faster and the moisture pools in my panties.
after we were led to the suite by the proprietor and the door shut behind him. i launched myself at him. standing on my tip toes to wrap my arms around his neck as he leans down and engulfs me in his arms. holding me still against him, knowing that in the moment, right then and there, things would be alright.
and then there was that moment. that nanosecond just before our lips meet. again. for the first time. after months apart. the three thousand + miles that separate us, among other things, fades as his hands; strong, firm yet gentle become urgent against my skin and my body responds without hesitation.
the medication that i’ve been prescribed between chemo treatments usually leaves me with nausea (though much less than if i didn’t take it) but last night it seemed to bring about dreams that were fueled by memories of me and him. together. in one of those rare moments we’ve had over the course of the last two years.
that first kiss when i realized without a doubt i had not only crossed the line i swore i would never cross, i had pole vaulted over it. or the way the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my nipples went erect when he walked into the conference and i hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet.
or the delicious way his blush reached all the way up to his cerulean blue eyes and my panties went wet. or the raspberries he brought unexpectedly when i was alone in nyc and he found the time to cross the bridge to welcome me to his side of the continent. or meeting at my favorite bistro on the one day our travel schedules aligned whilst we were in france. enjoying a meal before strolling along the city. and the moment at the chalet his past fall, when i had orgasm after orgasm after orgasm and he held me as my body lay spent, trembling from pleasure i had only ever read about in erotic novels.
the way my flesh in his hands responds of their own accord and the way he renders me speechless with the simple flick of his tongue on so many parts of my body. his skin against mine and his weight upon me. the salty taste of his skin or better yet, the taste of myself on his tongue as his mouth recaptures mine.
dreaming of him leaves me spent and aching for his taste, his touch, his scent, him.
is me is really me 