Replacement shower HNT

Prayer

I've shut off, shut down. I can't feel you anymore.

I've prayed on my knees to the Goddess in in my heart and in my head and in the Moon at night.
Her voice, it whispered in my ear that I am stronger than this, and I am stronger than I know.

I closed my eyes and leaked bitter tears but held my own in the struggle to stay aloft.

I have walked away a hundred times and cried a thousand more, but this time, this time it is different like every other time and I will pray not only for my own strength but for yours.
I will pray for your peace, and for your joy, and for the love you deserve.

My hands will trace ritual and my lips will speak prayers and my heart will beg that you have all of the best that you deserve.

Drowning, aching. Grieving a loss I never had.

You're too close and I can't see anything but your face, taste anything but your scent.

You're too far away and I can't touch you.

Unfinished Dream

Curled on the couch, casual intimacy that speaks of a thousand other intimacies which in waking life we have never shared. My body pressed to yours, back to chest, an arm warm and heavy around me as something silly plays on the television that I am not really paying attention to.
Slow movements of your hands, skimming along my waist and finding the hem of my loose shirt, sliding up my stomach. Your hands are so large against my body that it scares me sometimes and thrills me at others. A soft moan drawn from my throat by the heat of your skin against mine as your hand makes teasing circles over my rapidly-heating skin. My soft whimper as your fingers find the undersides of my breasts, eliciting a a small writhing motion from me, that presses my ass harder against your groin. Your low, growling response, pulling me harder into you and making me catch my breath hungrily.

Your hands wrapping around my breast, large enough to palm it, teasing my nipple until I shudder against you and make small pleading sounds. I can hear the satisfaction in your voice as tangible as the steadily growing erection against my ass, and when I feel you bend against me, I close my eyes for the scrape of teeth on my neck that I know is coming.

I have completely forgotten about the television until a laugh track startles me, making me jump against you, and your hands tighten in reflexive protectiveness before we both laugh. You're undeterred, however, and it is only seconds later that I feel your teeth sinking into the curve of neck and shoulder and I am gasping, whimpering and writhing against you in unspoken plea.

In Praise of the Vulnerable Man

This is just made me cry.
This is my husband. This is my Rush. This is my Mate, who is not afraid to cry in my arms.
This is the man I love, whose strength to be vulnerable allows me to give the same to him.
This man who trusts me enough to be vulnerable, is the man in whose arms I can be.

You are the bravest man I’ve ever met 
You unreluctant at treacherous ledge 

You are the sexiest man I’ve ever been with 
You, never hotter than with armor spent 

When you do what you do to provide 
How you land in the soft as you fortify 

This is in praise of the vulnerable man 
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home 

You, with your eyes mix strength with abandon 
You with your new kind of heroism 

And I bow and I bow down to you 
To the grace that it takes to melt on through 

This is in praise of the vulnerable man 
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home 
This is a thank you for letting me in 
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man 

You are the greatest man I’ve ever met 
You the stealth setter of new precedents 

And I vow and I vow to be true 
And I vow and I vow to not take advantage 

This is in praise of the vulnerable man 
Why won’t you lead the rest of your cavalry home 
This is a thank you for letting me in 
Indeed in praise of the vulnerable man

I love you. I trust you because you trust me.
You are my safety because you understand the courage it takes to bare your soul. 

Older HNT

I found this in my phone's downloads folder.
Judging by the hickey on my breast and my hair color/length, Rush took it not long after we got together.

Quiet Night In

We have been teasing, toying, and playing all day.
Text messages and pictures, low laughter on the phone. I know that you want me, and it is mutual my love.
But first, there is life to put to rights: cooking for the rest of the week, caring for our child, cleaning up the house, a shower and hair dye for me, shaving with long, slow strokes of the razor until my skin is pink and smooth and as soft as massage oil can make it.
There is the shower for you, and clean sheets for the bed, dealing with the small mountain of clean laundry.

But finally, finally, there is me, and there is you and there is nothing else.
There is your body against mine, the wild-shy look on your face and the predatory glint in mine.

There is my low chuckle, "I think you've missed me, sweetheart," and your whispered affirmative.
My order to welcome me back, by kissing every inch of my body.
Long, slow moans as you obey, beginning at the arches of my feet. I am infernally ticklish, and detest being tickled, but in the years we've been together you have learned to touch me without my most dreaded response, and my low, throaty sounds are entirely those of pleasure tonight.
Unsurprisingly, you linger at the juncture of hip and thigh, teasing my warm pussy with tiny kisses and heated breath, before following orders and moving on.
Across the flat planes of my belly, in the hollow of my hip and curve of my waist, along the sensitive undersides of my breasts and gentle teasing kisses to my hardened nipples.
Long, slow caresses of your tongue to my neck, until I grab your face and drag you in for a kiss of my own. Your almost-innocent smile of pleasure, thrilled at pleasing me and my answering grin of delight.

Kneeling across my chest now, giving me the show I requested. My hands roaming your body, teasing your nipples, stroking your thighs, toying with your balls as you stroke your cock. My fingers in your perineum, tongue flicking across your cockhead, your indrawn breath.
"Cum on my breasts, love," my quiet order.
Your moaning assent, head thrown back and eyes closed. Your body spasming, heat splashing across my breasts and trickling along my throat. My soft sound of pleasure.

Your body, lying across mine now, cooling cum sticky on our pressed-together chests. My body moving against yours in demand.
"You're not finished yet, love." The words alone enough to harden you again, but not so large now, not so thick.
I am 120lbs and built to proportion. I love to be fucked hard, but my cervix can't take another round of rough sex tonight, not when I seem to only ever attract well-endowed lovers and my Rush is certainly no exception.
We have learned, though, that the second erection is not so long, not so hard, and much easier on my still-sore body.

"Ride me, my love. Fuck me until I cum."
I love the eagerness on your face at my words, love your joy in pleasing me, in pleasuring me.
I love the ease with which you slide into me, no stretching now, no soreness or pain. Only the warm weight of your body inside of mine, the joyful fullness of your cock in me.
Your hips moving, face intent, my fingers finding my clit almost unnecessary because you keep hitting that spot, keep stroking me over and over as you kneel up with your hands on my breasts and your hips pounding into me but there is no pain now, only pleasure, and soon I am spilling over the edge and moaning against you as I shake and cum and cry out your name.

I was bouncing, writing happily about committing violence on you, when three simple words broke it.
Broke me.

How ironic. I was writing about breaking you, when your words broke me.

“I trust you.”

You don’t understand.

I have heard a thousand “I love you’s” from a hundred throats. That is not arrogance but truth. I care for people and make no secret of it, accept them and let them know that- it is damned attractive in a world in which we all feel as though we must be ‘perfect’ to be loved.
I have heard a thousand ‘I love you’s’ from a hundred throats, and perhaps a dozen, in close to 30 years, truly meant it, meant it as I do.

So those words mean little to me- they are a way of justifying your emotions, your desire, a way of expressing need without admitting that it is need and nothing more.

I trust you.

Those words are rarer, harder.

Do not misunderstand. I hold the trust of more people than even I probably realize. I have made a career of being the person people trust.

And yet, it never fails to hit home, never fails to kick me square in the chest and draw an almost subliminal need to be worthy of that trust.

I am thankful I don’t hear those words often.

You thought they made me uncomfortable, seemed amused by it.
You misunderstand.

It isn’t discomfort you see. It is the abrupt drop of tensed shoulders, the standing from a stalking crouch. It is the Predator turning from focused hunter intent on maiming you, into a purring pussycat and tempting me to rub against you in invitation to stroke her coat.

Solitary Intimacy

All that Rush wanted for Father's Day was for us to ride together.
We just bought him a motorcycle, and we finally got my love running again. Finally.
Saturday was a clusterfuck of love and pain and joy and sorrow and deep, deep grief.
But in the end, late that night, after joy and companionship in the brightly lit garage with the scent of brake fluid and laughter, I rode her home.

Sunday morning, I slipped to my knees so that Rush could place the collar around my neck. On these days, we are in service to one another: one Mother's Day & my birthday, he to me. On Father's Day & his birthday, I to him. It settled around my throat, cool and slightly heavy and a joyful reminder of my promise to the man I love.

An hour or two later, we hit the road together for the first time.

I have never ridden with a partner, and only ridden with another person twice. A random friend in Florida, and my roommate in Alabama. That was nearly 7 years ago. I have always ridden alone, for the nearly 10 years Skya has been mine.
I have not even been on her in 2 years, and it took a little while to remember basic lane discipline, to return the muscle memory of throttle and clutch and front brake, rear brake, shifting with my feet, leaning and turning and bracing against the highway wind.
Rush rode behind me, his faster bike and more recent riding deferring to my cruiser and long time away from the road.

We had our fits and starts, a clog in the petcock and her determined slowing despite everything I had on the throttle and a desperate slap to the choke before it abruptly cleared and we shot forward into the sunshine with Rush fast behind us.

The highway is my least favorite riding: cars and hot asphalt and traffic inching too close to my fenders and wind shoving me along the lane and nothing worth looking at for hours on end. But at the north end of 400, off of exit 17, GA-9 opens into a beautiful, curving path to my favorite mining town of Dahlonega.

It was bliss to ride again, and a new type to ride with the man I love, my best friend.
Riding together is a solitary form of companionship. You are together in an incredibly intimate manner, depending on one another for direction, leadership, protection, and laying your life in your partner's hands. You follow them into curves and across bridges, trusting they know the route, trusting they will not lead you astray or into danger.... and yet it is also solitary. We do not have the fancy new helmet with the CB radios or bluetooth phone access. We ride solitary with only earbuds playing our separate music and the singular thoughts passing across our eyes. We check on one another in mirrors and with quick turns of our head, but every curve is taken alone and every dapple of sunlight hits only our eyes as we ride together.

Solitary intimacy as the wind passes around us, against us, as each curve leans ahead of us and we judge alone at what speed we can take it. Singular companionship as we choose the route together and ride alone along it, every one of the million split-second decisions required on these curvy mountain roads decided alone and yet weighing into the decision of the other.

Pulling up beside one another at stoplights, stop signs. A nod, a grin, hand signals our only communication and yet we are as in sync in this moment as in the throes of sex.
It is almost a disappointment to arrive in Dahlonega and park our bikes side by side in the space, despite my aching back and vibrating ass. It is almost a loss to regain speech and lose the solitary intimacy of riding together.

Fortunately, we have another 4 hours of riding ahead of us...

(Stopped for a picnic on the way up)

Good

Bored and mischievous, hungry and teasing.
Reminding you of your precious rules, while poking at them.
You told me this morning, "Good men don't need rules. Why do you think I have so many of them?"

Maybe I'm better than you, then.
I have one rule.

Don't hurt people you love.

Maybe I'm not.
Maybe I suck at it.

Because I want to push you into breaking your rules.
I want to ride down the elevator with you and step into you, watch the flicker of panic as you back into the wall. I want to stand on tiptoe and kiss you, knowing you won't stop me if I take the initiative, if you can tell yourself it wasn't your fault and you didn't do it.

I want to bite you, press my teeth into your skin until you can't restrain your most primal self from rising, from reaching for me, from taking what you both want.

I want to push you. I want to force you.

I am not a good person.

But I think you knew that.

Delayed Back HNT

Wise words

Sorry for being late on the HNT- I'll post it later today.

Meanwhile, Guy Baldwin's words are, as usual, incredibly powerful in most contexts than simply BDSM:

"Let me remind you that the words integrity and integrate are related.
In psychology, we speak of an “integrated personality,” and by that we mean that all the parts of one’s self fit together and mesh smoothly with all the other parts.
We mean that no part of the self is exiled.
We mean that all parts of the self welcome all the other parts.
We mean that none of the parts of the self is at war with any other part... As I said last week in Los Angeles, 'The brave may not live forever, but the ashamed do not live at all.'”

(This is from his Keynote at the Houston NLA )

Live. Live as who you are. 

Laugh. Loud and long and without fear. 

Love. Not only others and the world around you, but yourself... all of it. 

Loving and Fucking

You taste like sweat and the indefinable scent of hot engine. I can smell the motorcycle on you, smell it on myself. If I were a girl, if I were fastidious, if I cared, I would probably be repulsed.
I am not a girl, I am not fastidious, and I was raised by bikers. This scent is comfort to me, and thanks to Wolf it is sex as well.

I have not smelled this on a lover in 10 years, not smelled the mechanic scent of hot metal and engine grease in the skin of the man I will fuck, and it makes me a little silly, a little giddy.
Oh, you are not Wolf, thank Goddess. You are not the man who was once my lover and who broke my heart as only a child's heart can be broken.
You are my husband, my Mate, the man who has chosen to stand by my side through sickness and health, pregnancy and breastfeeding, wealth and poverty. You are the man whose hands are in my hair but my heart is in your teeth and I no longer fear that you will bite down.

We are playing in the bed like children- teasing, nipping, kissing, and laughing. This is what I forgot once that sex could be like. This is what you taught me again. My teeth in your shoulder, your mouth on my nipple. My gasp, your moan.
The taste of sweat on your skin, the weight of you against me.

Your mouth between my legs, long-anticipated. Squirming, moaning, joyous and laughing and loving.

Your hands pinning me, changing the tone, my laughing, biting response.
Your body inside of mine, instinctive arch and moan against you.

Your body pounding into mine, my nails deep in your back. Every stroke slaps my cervix but for once it feels almost good and I do not shift my hips away.

Your hand on my head, lifting me, forcing me to watch you fuck me, watch your cock slide in and out of my so-willing pussy.

My breasts bouncing with every thrust, almost aching with arousal.

My hand on my pussy, teasing my clit as you fuck me, fast rising sharp shaking crest of orgasm with you deep inside me.

Pressed face-down now, your hand between my shoulderblades holding me down, your body slapping against mine, your free hand teasing my ass until I squirm and moan against you.

Your rhythm increasing, your thrusting harder until I squirm from pain as much as pleasure but I want this, want this climax, wants your body spasming inside of mine...

Until finally, together, we come down, curled together, sweating and tired and sated.

Setting Fire to the Rain

Last night, in the cool darkness of the car as Rush and I sped toward home, we talked.
Listening to Adele, listening to "Set Fire to the Rain," and the plaintive, bluesy lament of her knees too weak to stand in your arms.
I am reminded, with painful, heart-squeezing suddenness, of the last time I held you within my body.

Never before, and never since, have I been so willing to walk through fire for someone. Never before, never since, have I loved with so much passion and so little reason.

Memories:
The scent of you: hot metal and cigarettes and spicy musky arousal.
Your bedroom, with the rainbow fan left over from some long-ago child  moving the hot hair over our bodies as we lay spent in one another's arms.

My body moving over yours, stretching gorgeous fullness of you inside of me. My thighs tireless from constant horseback riding, riding you, moving you in and out of me with the rhythm I have only in horses and sex.
Your dark hands on my breasts and my little gasps and whimpers. Looking down, still learning to enjoy sex as pleasure, not pain, revelling in the sight of your body moving inside of mine. Your voice, a chocolatey chuckle, "You like seeing me inside of you, don't you?" My flushing, stammering reply... 17 and still so innocent, so shy, despite the worldliness I claimed. "Yes...."
Your low voice, telling me to bring myself- to cum for you.
Leaning back a litte, aching with fullness, your hands on my breasts, twisting spirals of pleasure from my nipples fluttering to add to the heat in my groin. My fingers finding my clit, shy at first- I am still too nervous  to share this often- small circles while you move against me until the pleasure grows, spills through me in shivering waves and low moans as I spasm against you. The deeply masculine satisfaction on your face as you pin my gaze with yours even as I shudder and whimper against you.
Your hands tightening on me, flipping me until I am beneath you, pinned, a little breathless from the aftermath of my orgasm and the adrenaline of the sudden movement. Your body pounding harder into mine, you willing now to take your pleasure and my body arching to meet you, hips matching your pace with greedy hands and mouth on your heated body.
Feeling you tighten inside of me, tighten against me, my body responding instinctively to the promise of pleasure and spasming around you again as you finally spill yourself inside of me, the mini-orgasm of my lover's orgasm dragging my nails into your shoulders.
After: your hands idly tracing my body. Poessession and pride and pleasure in your touch. Little ticklish wriggles and soft moans as I lie spent and sated against you.


A flood of memories now:
Taste of mango dropping down my hand as I sucked my fingers clean and licked the juices up, your eyes watching me as I suck each finger clean individually, thoroughly.
Moments later, your cock in my mouth, satisfaction of your low groans. Silky hard ridge of your cockhead under my tongue. Choking pleasure of taking every inch of you in- still inexperienced at it but so eager to learn, so eager to please you.
Later still, the movie forgotten, dusty scent of your couch and the tickling of your hair against my thighs, the heat of your mouth between my legs. The whimpering arching sharpness of your teeth lightly teasing my clit, your tongue lathing it gently afterwards until I arch and moan and grind into you begging wordlessly for more.

Your car, late at night. Church parking lot, ancient graveyard behind us.
The taste of you filling my senses, neck sore from sucking you but I don't care- I just want this. Shiver down my spine from the location, your hand on my neck, heat easing the muscles even as you press me further onto you. My low humming moan against your balls and your complementary shiver.

Rushing adrenalinefearjoy riding behind you, eyes closed in refusal to see the speedometer and tangible expression of trust in you. Smell of leather even over the rushing wind, arms right around you. Humming motor between my legs, tight press against you. Exhilaration of riding a motorcycle again- no knowledge yet of the greater joy of riding my own- with someone I love.

The last days:
Curled against you for what I didn't know was the last time. Your body wrapped warm and safe around mine. No, you were not safe anymore and I knew it. I was not 17 anymore, not naive anymore, and there was more pain and anger and bitter rage between us than there ever had been love. Your hands in my hair, your fingertips on my skin, and the mingled joyregretneedhoperagelove of every single moment I think about you.

I let it fall, my heart,
And as it fell you rose to claim it
It was dark and I was over
Until you kissed my lips and you saved me

My hands, they're strong
But my knees were far too weak,
To stand in your arms
Without falling to your feet

But there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew.
All the things you'd say
They were never true, never true,
And the games you play
You would always win, always win.

But I set fire to the rain,
Watched it pour as I touched your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name!

When I lay with you
I could stay there
Close my eyes
Feel you here forever
You and me together
Nothing is better

'Cause there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew,
All the things you'd say,
They were never true, never true,
And the games you'd play
You would always win, always win.

But I set fire to the rain,
Watched it pour as I touched your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name!

I set fire to the rain
And I threw us into the flames
When it fell, something died
'Cause I knew that that was the last time, the last time!

Sometimes I wake up by the door,
That heart you caught must be waiting for you
Even now when we're already over
I can't help myself from looking for you.

I set fire to the rain,
Watched it pour as I touched your face,
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name

I set fire to the rain,
And I threw us into the flames
When it fell, something died
'Cause I knew that that was the last time, the last time, ohhhh!

Oh noooo
Let it burn, oh
Let it burn
Let it burn

Numb

I feel smothered and encumbered and defeated and drawn
Disappointed, over-extended and frustrated and shaken
This over-giving , over-loving, this care taking goes on
With no chance of intermission.
I'll be checked out, I'll be gone

Have to remove myself from sensation

Here comes the feeling
I run from the feeling and reach for the drug
Can't sit with this feeling
I'd rather be flying and comfortably numb

I feel anxious, I am nervous, I am bored
I'm overwhelmed, rather be out of my gourd

Have to remove myself from sensation

Here comes the feeling
I run from the feeling and reach for the drug
Can't sit with this feeling
I'd rather be flying and comfortably numb

I am lonely, I feel hungry and unloved
I feel angry, I am livid, need a hug

Here comes the feeling
I run from the feeling and reach for the drug
Can't sit with this feeling
I'd rather be flying and comfortably numb

Relaxing Night HNT

Kiss With a Fist

Fight me.

Hit me.

I dare you.

I am violent today; weeks of frustration and pain and rage and hurt bubbling over in a manic, almost-friendly sort of violence.

I am bouncing to Florence + the Machine's "Kiss With a First" and fantasizing about it.
About hitting you. Being slammed against the wall.
Kicking you. Your hand on my throat.
My foot to your knee.
Your palm sharp across my face.
The ringing in my head. The grimace of pain on your face.

The kiss that is 3/4 bite and nothing that resembles gentle.
The tearing of clothes, preceded by another bruise.
The slap of bodies in something like lust and something like hate and something like love that most aren't strong enough to give.

You dreamed

Images you've given me, the dream in your head:
Crowded bathroom from your youth. Broken towel rack, bruised knees, cold wall against hot skin.

My mind responds with images from the home inside my mind. Images from the bathroom I've painstakingly built in my own fantasy world: the sunken garden tub surrounded by plants, 6' glass brick window over it, and granite and glass brick shower large enough for 3, with 5 rain-style shower heads and reclaimed teak benches. The long, waist-high counter running the length of the room, two sinks and a vanity seat comfortable enough to convince even me to wear makeup.

My mind responds with towel racks sturdy enough to use for barre, and soft rugs to ease bruisable knees.

I hear your voice whispering in my ear, the words that started this entire spiral:
"you cornered me in a bathroom and took what you wanted... and I didn't stop you". 

Again, my mind responds with a plot line, details to fill in your bare statement: an image of steam from the shower rising around you. The sensation of tile beneath my feet and the sway of my hips as I stalk toward you. The cornered look in your eye, half fear and half anticipation. Towel held in front of you like a shield from my nudity... or perhaps, from your reaction to mine. The slow, curving smile flitting across my lips- pleasure and anticipation and challenge- as I reach you and wrap one hand around the back of your neck, pressing myself into you as I pull you down to kiss me. There is no question, no offer here. My lips are a demand, and your response merely payment.

My imagination offers a tangled barrage of images: the towel dropping as your hands move to grip my arms, holding me in place against you. Your hands, your mouth, on my breasts, rough and hungry with long denial. My gasp and arch against you at the sharp pain/pleasure of teeth in sensitive nipples. My body bowed back against you, your hand beneath my lower back. 

Low ache of tile beneath my knees, your thighs beneath my hands as I drag you into my mouth. Low growl of contentment at the long-awaited taste of you. Teasing flicks of my fingers against your balls, choking fullness of each deep-throating press of my lips to your groin.

My legs wrapped around you, gripping your waist with the ease of nearly 3 decades of horseback riding. The sharp ache of you inside me, stretching me. The moaning warmth of your teeth against my throat. The dig of my nails in your back, coppery scent of blood in the air. 

In the shower. Hot water running over your skin, reddening it until a part of me waits for Beastie to split through your skin like a bad werewolf movie. The image should disgust me, and yet it doesn't.

Cold tile against my back, your hands gripping my ass. Thighs burning with strain of gripping you and cunt joyfully full. My nails digging into your shoulders, breasts bouncing, and the sheer animal lust on your face almsot enough to drag me over the edge into orgasm.

Outside, steam swirling around the room and the tile floor cold beneath my feet. My breasts pressed into the counter, body bent beneath you. Brief glimpses of your face in the mirror, eyes almost angry and hands rough on my hips. One hand lifting to my head, tangling in my hair, forcing my head back down until I am pressed down and helpless beneath you- your legs spreading mine, your hands forcing me down and over. Ache of my jaw against the cold counter, and the stark contrast of the heat of your skin, the heat between my legs. 

Over and over, the video loops in my head, until I squirm in my seat and fight the growing wetness between my thighs.