Shaking

You're touching me, your hands tender on my skin and your body wrapped around mine. I am curled, shaking, against you, drawing comfort from your nearness and your warmth and your love. I don't feel very dominant right now, my my head buried in your shoulder- don't feel like I am presenting the image of what I am supposed to be- but I am slowly learning to trust you to love me anyway.

You're teaching me, slowly, that I don't have to be a cardboard cutout of The Dominant Woman for you, that you will love me even if I stumble, even if I cry, even if I am clingy and needy and afraid sometimes.

You're teaching me, slowly, that you will love me even if I don't wear makeup, even if I don't wear heels or even know what gender I am sometimes.

You're teaching me, slowly, that you will love me even if I am myself.

I'm shaking less now, slowly uncurling from my tight ball of old wounds and fresh pain, and you are still there. Still there touching me, kissing me... loving me.

It feels suddenly like my heart is swelling, filling with love and tenderness and this deep gratitude and my entire body responds to it, swelling and ripening and somehow deepening until I am lifting my head and capturing his lips in mid-kiss, stroking his tongue with my own and wrapping his precious, precious face in my hands.

I cannot help it now, I want him as he moans into my mouth, his hands spasming, clutching me, his hair falling into our faces and his body pressing into mine. I roll him over, straddling him, my damp groin pressed to his hard cock and my fingers tangling in his hair.

God, I love his hair.

Suddenly I realize that there are tears in my eyes, that I can taste them in our kisses and I start to draw away, start to apologize, but he draws me back down to him and kisses me again, love reflected in his eyes.