Without words

I don't know the words...

flashes return.

The clamp of her thighs across my face, the scarlet heat of her body
convulsing around my tongue. The salty-sweet taste of her, cumming
over and over and over.

D's mouth on my breast, her lips soft on my most private ones. The
gentle lap of her tongue and the heat in her eyes as she brings me
over the edge.

Her weight across me, the writhing of her hips as D toys with her
pussy and ass. The warm trickle of her juices across my thighs as she
cums for him.

D's heat sliding inside me, the clamp of her hand and the lust in her
eyes as he fucks me. D's groan of ecstasy as I surround him, my own
desperate pants.

The taste of her breast as he fucks her. The slap of their bodies and
the heat of her throat in my hand as he cums inside of her.

The warm, snuggly afterglow of their bodies pressed against mine as we
curl into one another, thankful for this life, this relationship, this
night.

...as my husband so colorfully expressed it last night: "I am one
lucky motherfucker... that's a whole lotta sexy in my bed."

A life of joy

This is my life of joy. I am covered in sand, about to take a shower. The baby has had a bath from his first dirt-eating episode, and my 5 year old stepson is freshly showered himself. I am covered in sand from the playground today, where we taught T to swing himself.
The washing machine is chugging in the background while my shower heats up, and there is a sign on my wall that says, "I love you because...". It is framed and has a blank space beneath where my husband has written, "you're a wonderful wife and my beat friend."
Our girl will be home from work soon, and she will enter our home where I am cooking her dinner and go to her knees in my kitchen to receive her kiss of greeting. This is my life of joy.

We will eat meatloaf, and salad, and talk about our days, and maybe watch a silly tv show. My baby son will fall asleep in her arms and I will tuck her 5yr old into bed, and we will curl up together for grown-up time before I go to work tomorrow while they are off.

And tomorrow D will watch the children so Akasha can unpack and organize her house in peace, and I will text them both from work... missing them but a little grateful to be out of the unpacking. Tomorrow night, a vanilla friend will join us for dinner and we will cuddle, and feed the baby, and eventually take our beautiful girl to bed and fuck her senseless before cuddling in a warm and loving puppy pile.

This is my life of joy.


Sent from my Verizon Wireless Phone

Nostalgia

This is supposed to be my evening of alone-time. D & Akasha are together, the baby is asleep, and I am finally able to truly just relax and be entirely alone without weight of expectations or needs.
I love my partners with everything in me, but true alone-time is an increasing rarity in my life.


Instead, I am thinking about the Navigator tonight.

I have just finished re-reading a piece of erotica we co-wrote, passing it semi-randomly while looking for another document on google and clicking on it from pure nostalgia.

What we wrote was never truly on the table in real life, it was a fantasy that even the one wonderful night we did have could never truly live up to... no experience, no matter how amazing, can match 3 years of fantasy and pent-up desire.

But reading that story, remembering the heat of his lips on mine and the faint hint of worked metal that he always seems to carry rubbed into my skin from his own... I miss him.
I know that we are never meant to be, and I wouldn't leave my husband, my girl, or my son.
But it has been over a year since I have seen his face, heard his voice, or smelled the warm scent of his skin on mine, and I miss him.

I miss the comfort of being curled up with him and bullshitting about everything from cars to the insanity of women's fashion. I miss the warmth of his hands in my hair and the easy comfort of working beside him painting, landscaping, or writing a paper.
I miss the solid trust in his friendship and the pleasant sexual tension that never quite went away.

I know that my life right now, and the relationships I'm in, do not allow for the same relationship that he and I once had. I have no idea if he would even find my post-partum body attractive, with its stretch marks, widened hips, and still slightly flabby belly. I do not like my body now the way that I once did, do not trust its sexual power the way that I once did, do not have faith in the responses my body once drew.

I know that another man in my life is not in the cards for a variety of reasons, and that one as alphic as the Navigator would be a disaster to the delicate balance of my polyamory.
I know these things, and I do not regret the life I have chosen.

But tonight, I will let myself remember the warmth of his arms around me, the conscious tenderness of his kiss, and the hot metal and male scent of his skin rubbed into mine.