ma coeur

his image is there when i close my eyes and he’s who i think about when my first conscious breath of morning fills my lungs. his presence has brought me back to life, knowing a mans touch and reminding me of what it means to be a woman. for all the focus he is in my world, i am nothing but a peripheral one to his. even knowing this, i am not dissuaded from allowing myself to feel about him, as i need to. he could never be safety and security for me; he is passion, sexual demands, fulfillment and swirling emotional context. i am but a chapter in his life book, while he is the entire reason i have for writing.

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i hurt

surgery is never fun, especially as you age. things aren’t as elastic, you aren’t as flexible. it simply takes longer to heal. the worst part, besides the obvious pain, is being vulnerable. i despise the weakness. and worse, i have to rely on an unreliable caregiver. my spouse is inept in so many ways. he can’t physically maneuver to support me, when all i have to do is lean into him. he is that awkward. it’s been almost 2 years since he’s physically even touched me, so i’m sure it’s part of the problem. he hates touching me. and he keeps whining, that he doesn’t know what to do. seriously? he’s helping me stand and get to the washroom and every time, whines ‘he doesn’t know what to do’. ask me how confidant i am in anything he does.

i asked him to handle 3 things for my work, that i could not do, due to…well…surgery! plus i was drugged out and in massive pain. that night i asked him if he’d done it and then the waterfall of excuses happened and run arounds. he said he had, but his tone told me he hadn’t. so i asked for the cc’s of what was sent. he got angry as he didn’t do it and couldn’t give it and so he went on the attack about how he had so much to do (resentfully taking care of me). and when i pointed out, i was in surgery and recovery for 7 hours and he had plenty of time, or when i came home and got settled, he has 3-5 hours that night. my walk to the bathroom takes 6-7 minutes round trip.

exhausted, i simply said i need it, do it, then fell asleep. and surprise, he didn’t do it the entire next day. he was busy. he made food you know! chicken and potatoes. but not for me. i’m vegetarian and don’t eat root vegetables or anything with a glycemic index over 15. day 2 from surgery and one of my sons heated up squash soup i had made for me and i had 7 rice crackers with goat cheese. oh and a piece of celery. because then he made a chicken noodle soup and asked if i wanted some. i reminded him, like the day before and the last 2 years, i still don’t eat chicken, potatoes or carrots. he was offended and petulant. and i was hungry. he went out to ‘an appointment’ and was gone 2 hours. he came home with a garlic lebanese salad with hummus. i ate it as i needed something in my system. i asked him to make me a tea and he struggled. asking me what i take in it. nothing like saying i haven’t noticed you for 31 years.

and why am i up now? because i just worked for 1.5 hrs doing what i asked him to do, after taking my pain meds. the things he was capable of doing and didn’t, just so he could create conflict and sprout off how much he is doing for me, but isn’t really. anything i asked for he didn’t do. the things he did do, were not needed and had no benefit to me. and so i struggle. because he makes things worse in his childish way of trying to make him helping me, the focus of my being  for all his efforts. rather than his doing unnecessary things which aren’t helping me at all. and when i point it out to him, he’s angry and  childish. and i’m stuck having to deal with this shit because i’m helpless. i can’t even stand up on my own.

and i vowed, i am not over doing things this time. i can only let him ruin shit if i let him get to me. and he tries to make me lose control so he can be smug and righteous in why he is so badly used by me and how he does his best and it’s never good enough. i end up saying ‘ you’re right’ simply to shut it down while escalating the situation. i’ve agreed with him yet he still tries to push. i snap back, i agreed with you and you aren’t good enough. it’s exhausting. i just want someone that i trust to actually care about me and feel badly that i’m in pain and try to make my life easier by bringing me water and food instead of my asking for it so it can be treated magnanimously, like a massive favor he needs to be thanked copiously for.

i’ll get through this. and be patient as i deal with him trying to get accolades for his failed attempts at assisting me. he  has a choice and is doing this on purpose while i on the other hand, am not. rest and recovery is hard when you have someone trying to sabotage things. i just have to stay alert and not let him push me. if that means eating sporadically until i can manage a bit on my own, then so be it. if you have a loving relationship, cherish it.

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false walls

tell me the lies i want to hear, so i can wrap myself in the warmth of the cellophane i pretend to be shearling fleece. you are the realistic, yet plastic fruit, set jauntily in a provocatively beautiful bowl made of rich olive wood, promising delicious fulfillment, hollow and actually useless. and yet, here i am, bemoaning the fact i can not gaze upon your false image, while lying to myself about the reality of your non existence presence.

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quiet decisions

i wish i didn’t want you as much as i do. or that i didn’t think about you every time i want to be touched. i hate that i have to stop myself from contacting you and then i hate myself when i do. it would all be too much, you know, if it wasn’t for the way you are with me, once you allow me into life, on your schedule. the wall falls. and i can feel you reaching for me and needing more than physical interactions.

the last time we were together, you made love to me. it was you connecting with me with uncertainty in your eyes. and you watch me, every nuance and reaction, you inhale everything i am and respond to it with intensity. and when you push me physically, then you worry, and pull me back to you and i can see my vulnerability impacts you and then you become protective and soothing. you smile at me with your eyes once you know i am able to come back into myself and start strategic veils around my emotions again.

that’s the problem between us. so many hurts have created an inability to trust completely or fully and in the moments of in between, we let the sheers slip and for the briefest of moments, we are aware of the damage the other can cause and so we step back from an abyss that neither of us are prepared to face again, anytime soon. like wary cats sharing the same space, distrustful of the other, intensely aware, while we can not change the situation, there needs to be an uneasy peace between us, which includes reluctant interactions where we reveal too much about things we don’t want to admit.

i’m not about to ask or talk about it. i don’t want to know how you feel. if this is all there can be, then that’s what it will be. i’m not willing to risk the brief respite or take the leap to change things. you are the driftwood i am clinging, to as the ebbing tidal bore carries me further along an unknown course, while i gather my energy and don’t have to think about survival for the brief time i can hold on. i’m not safe, but i’m better off than i was before you arrived or will be once i decide to push off from you, or you are torn from me, and i have to make my way through the hidden dangers all around me, to the true stability of a deceptively far off shoreline.

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strength of desire

can you be both gentle and assertive to engage and captivate me. it is the easiest thing in the world for a man who knows his strength is purposed to protect what he desires. or will you use your  strength to obtain what you desire, and your gentleness to retain that which you’ve inspired to lust?

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demands are met

He is more beautiful than any man has the right to be. As he stood by the window, you could see the flex of his muscles as he used the back of his hand to move the sheer to the side to offer a clearer view, the pale grey light of an overcast and drizzly day put him into glorious silhouette, as the room was slightly darker. His shoulders are wide with tightly bulging muscles. My eyes traced their line from the broad width of his bare neck and trapezius, which corded as he slightly turned his head, over the rounded musculature of his deltoids. He brought male anatomy to life as a warm and vibrant body.

Even filtered, I could see the shaded areas where the long length of them tapered down his arm and to the bend and where the slight furing on his forearms became more visible. His arm was crooked and slightly above his bald head, so that his  wide, masterful hand rested at an artistic Michelangelo angle, not far from his forehead, making you think that it looked empty as if it should be holding a violent weapon to match the appearance of the man. You could see the long triangle of muscles which made up the map of his powerful back.

He has small delicate ears behind high cheek bones. Even without the lighting and with his full beard, you can see the hollow beneath them. The shape of his profile was masculine and fierce. He could be a viking or highlander, with a different background in front of him. The wide triangle of his heavily tattooed back rippled with lateral shifting of muscles, of the as it tapered down to a long waist. Two identical dimples on either side of his spine, which would have been hidden beneath the band of his jeans, had he been wearing them, marked the start of the curvature of his taunt buttocks.

My breath quickened as my eyes followed their round firmness. As he was standing at an angle, you can see the delicious cleft separating them, pairing the perfection and bringing me stirring memories of my hands running over them, grasping and pulling him into me. Recent memories of his powerful thighs pushing mine apart flooded my mind. I must have made a noise as he turned his face from the window, looking over his shoulder and smiled at me, so that his eyes crinkled at the corners.

I was laying naked and splayed on his bed, the bed sheets crumpled and tangled at my feet, my long hair fanned in a riotous mess across bunched pillows which had been used in unseemly manners shortly before. His eyes seared my flesh as they left my face, skimming over my naked and still damp body. I looked as if I had been thrown upon his bed in a disheveled mess and left there, unable to garner any strength to move. In reality, that’s almost what had occurred and I could see the stirrings of his arousal and the self satisfied smirk of male pride reach his lips as he took the first few steps, back towards me.

I couldn’t even raise my arms in welcome. The man had spent hours rendering me incoherent. What had started out as making love; quiet, calm, tender and gentle, had turned into the fiercest hunger and demands that were asked and answered without knowing who began or responded. I smelled like him, like our lust, and as he lowered himself over my prostate and sensitive body once again, I felt his lips graze mine and could hear him inhale our mingled scents and it sent a shiver of response along my spine, which immediately arched, so that my tightening nipples grazed the hair on his firm chest.

As I gasped against his lips, I felt them stretch into a smile. He ran his hands from the underside of my upper arms, pushing them above my head as they ran down their length, until he was gripping my delicate wrists in his broad and rough hands. As I moaned into his mouth, he pressed harder to capture the sound and vibration. He shifted his hands, holding both wrists in one of his and used the other to run back down my arms, brushing the hair back from my face and off my forehead. I felt his knuckles drag across my cheek and along my jawline, having closed my eyes with the advent of his kiss.

From my chin, his fingers dipped so that they tracked the racing pulse along my neck, splaying them wide, so that his palm was gently pressing until his entire hand was across my throat; at the same moment he started to slowly and firmly impale me, with his impossibly hard cock. My eyes flew open as I cried out, body involuntarily tightening, pushing forward and into him, and the motion put pressure across my throat by the gentle hand he had completely held in place, so I had to make a conscious effort to keep my head back, so I could breathe.

He raised himself off my succulent body, so he was almost vertically positioned on his knees between my thighs, one hand still held firmly across my throat with the other still holding my wrists pinned so my arms were stretched over my head, and continued to thrust in powerful and meaningful measure. I couldn’t take it. I don’t even know how he could be hard again and the last truth which flashed through my brain, was how grateful I was for it.

My hips were desperately fighting to writhe beneath him, pinned beneath the weight of him, pressed against my pelvis. My whimpering  and gasps of pleasure, caught in my throat as my body fought for deeper contact. He growled “tell me” and my eyes flew open to see his face inches from my own “TELL ME! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” His eyes were intense, slit’s of angry domination.  Through a strangled voice, I whispered “cum” “Say it!” he demanded. ‘Do you want to cum?” He had not changed his pace or rhythm. “yes”

“I need to cum.” The words barely crossed my lips before his were on mine, grinding hard against my teeth, as he released my throat and wrists. His cock pummelled hard and deep until he bruised my swollen cervix and in seconds I was crying against his chest, my arms wrapped around his perfectly hard body, with his wrapped around my shoulders, holding me firmly in place. Through a haze of whirling pleasure, I heard him coo the words “Good girl” before the spasms of my powerful orgasm started to milk his flesh and I heard him grind the words through gritted teeth, sounding harsh and angry, “I’m going to cum inside of you. Is that what you want?”

“YES!” Barely able to speak at all, I cried “Yes!” Broken voice, pleading with him “Please! … god…yes!”. And with a roar, he raised himself over me, eyes wide open so that he could watch every emotion on my face as he released himself inside of me, throbbing incessantly so that I felt the searing heat of his ejaculate and his intense searing stare at the same time. And then I was wrapped in his arms, coming back into awareness with his hands stroking my back and side as he gathered me to him and was held and comforted, until I stopped trembling. A deep sigh of contentment left me as I snuggled into him and he softly kissed the top of my head.

This man. This perfectly broken and damaged man, is the glory of my body and I’ve never wanted anyone more, never wanted to please anyone as I do him. I trust him to not hurt my body as he pushes me to places I never knew I was capable of going to and yet would never trust him with the wholeness of a heart he would simply toss aside on his quest to prove he does not need anyone. I may be one of many, but I don’t ask because it really doesn’t matter. I do not respond to anyone, like I do with him. He is fire flashing over me, leaving the ash of destruction in his wake. Like a sudden forest burn, I know the devastation he will leave behind, will eventually become fertile grounds for something tenacious and beautiful, to grow in.

For now,  I have the image of this beautiful man, standing naked in silhouette, seared into the long term memory of a mind that will never forget him and a body that longs for him, the moment he slips from my body, leaving the scent of his presence on my thighs, which I wear with the pride of an engagement ring, knowing I am still his, until the moment I wash him from my  satiated body.

 

 

 

Posted in a mans body, Affair, erotica, fwb, horny, kissing, lover, lust, Relationships, Sex, writing | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

the bitch showed up

When I got the message on facebook, a client looking for emergency assistance because of a horrible life event, I wasn’t petty. I didn’t refer them back to the business they used instead of mine. Because they tried and could not get through to them before it was ‘after hours’, then realized the company they choose were not able to assist with the multitude of other things which needed to be done, from the cascade effect it had. So I rescued them and spent 3 hours of unpaid time resolving everything, so that he could focus on her. Of course she was useless and was the one who went behind his back to not use my company. Because of her Jealousy and misplaced pride. She thought she knew more than I did. Could manage it herself. Wrong. And so because of her selfish and ignorance, I was left cleaning up a disaster because I’m not as mean spirited as she was.

Karma’s a Bitch, isn’t it? But she’s so self centered, she’ll probably not understand that comment either.

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the ignorant oaf

because you are a clumsy and uncoordinated person at the best of times and you are never aware of yourself spatially, i often suffer the brunt of your misadventures when you are in my space, unless i pay close attention to you, so i can avoid injury. and for whatever reason, you must have felt guilty for something, as it’s the only reason you ever come into the kitchen to assist with anything, even when i ask you for help and give you a specific task. as you stood there back to me, not paying attention to me or asking me what my needs were, washing a plastic lid which clearly could have been left and was no where close to being a priority as i was rushing to plate 6 meals from 6 various pans, pots and containers, you paid no attention to my rhythm, of holding the container, putting the contents on the plate, then placing the empty pot int the sink, 2 feet away.

so when i reached quickly to place the empty pot into the sink, you ended up smashing my wrist violently, causing me to drop it and cry out in pain and snap at you. your reaction was not to apologize or be worried and ask if my wrist was okay, as i struggled to not completely cry, clutching it to my chest, but to snap at me and throw an insult my way, complaining about me, before storming off for 45 minutes. the entire interaction sent our adult kids from the room, as of course they supported you, because i was unreasonable and reactionary, right? just like you taught them i was.

so i threw the contents of the plated food into the garbage. the meal i had spent an hour cooking and was on plates. you drove them out when you hit me and i cried out then you snapped and left, so fine, no one is benefiting from my efforts. it took me twice as long to clean up, as my wrist was still stinging and numb from being whacked so hard. you came back after i had done the clean up, of course. because you are lazy. i know you didn’t hit my wrist on purpose, but how you treated me after speaks volumes about the type of man you are and how you view me. there is never any care or concern. ever. just condemnation and insulting words designed to hurt me.         .

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a worthless spouse

and today, when you are selfish and snapping; mean and trying to hurt me, bait me into fighting, simply because you are frustrated and want someone to take it out on, I remind myself, that this is why i no longer love you. you hear me call her after seeing the missed call on the phone. hear me say words of comfort and see me cry. and all you do is try and hurt me more because you are a mean spirited, ignorant and selfish prick of a man who cares nothing for me and shows me every chance you can that i do not matter in any way. he died today and as i sit across from you, instead of comforting me or even acknowledge or ask about it, you continue to mock and make snide remarks, accuse me of belittling you when i’ve said nothing to you. but then again, that is the problem, isn’t it? like a child, you want the attention, like the narcissist you are, you don’t think about anyone that doesn’t impact you directly. and rather than make me angry and reactive like you tried so desperately to do, by escalating your behaviour and your ugly words towards me, i quietly said to you, i hate you, you’re a failure of a man. then you continue to try and fight me by being rude, mean, swearing and explosive. my heart is broken. someone i loved just died. i don’t have time for your tantrums and your ignorance. everything is not about you. and i meant what i said. you are a pathetic excuse for a man. you should be embarrassed and ashamed of how you treat me and especially how you just acted towards me, when i am experiencing pain and grief. if cameras had of filmed it, you would have been cut to shreds by anyone witnessing it. i know i can’t count on you for anything as you are only content when i am hurting and exploding. and the more i don’t let you impact me, the worse you get, trying to make it happen. my stability enrages you. and the thing is, when you truly no longer care about someone, they don’t have the ability to hurt you like they once did. and you are nothing to me but the reason my kids had a stable home life and an intact family. you were my built in babysitter for breaks in dealing with an impossible situation. you were not getting 50% custody when they were little and having them choose to live with the parent with no rules as teens. no. they came first. and i’ve raised them without you while sharing the house with you, but not a life. together but separate in every way. i can not speak to you the way other adults interact. normal tone and cadence you attack and parrot back in hopes of instigating an argument. you refuse to answer direct questions. plausible deniability. you are weak and disgust me when i think about you as a partner. you’ve never been one. you are a condescending child who uses a sing song voice to pretend that you are normal when forced to interact with me to keep up pretence in front of other people, that you are civil to me. because you aren’t. i cook and clean, make you lunch to take to work and have meals when you come home and you say nothing.  you don’t help in clean up or preparation. no thanks. i start clean up and you go onto the computer saying it’s the first chance you had all day. you ask what did you want me to do? because like a child, you can’t look at the situation and step up. how many years has it been? you are a failure as a man in every way. and tonight we are supposed to go visit friends in a public venue and  no one will know what an asshole you’ve been to me when i got off the phone an hour ago, learning he died. but i know. you know. and it’s another thing i’ll never let you forget or forgive you for.

Posted in Family, Husband, marriage, Relationships | 10 Comments

my biological need for him

He’s the bad habit I can’t break, the only lover I want to take. He is the salt that thickens my blood and as much as I know he is bad for me, doesn’t deserve me, should not have access to my body or my mind, I give him both freely. I flaunt it in front of him. Knowing he won’t refuse me. You can see the anger behind the calm, as I remind him of everything I kept from him and he can’t control. His victory is that I finally gave into my need for him, but his failure comes at not saying no to me. For replying to my beacon.

He is civil and gentle, until he isn’t. His barely restrained and tense power vibrates through him and arouses me so that my response is like a tuning fork being tapped against the hard granite of his chest and arms, the reverberations crashing over the rippling flesh of his barred skin. He is so physically beautiful that regardless of how many times I see him, after a long period apart, I am so taken aback by it. So in awe of how viewing, then touching, his physical form makes me feel. I struggle with the air as it trickles into my lungs, which need to expand and can’t.

His touch burns me. Sending a shiver of cold heat so that the flesh raises and hardens my nipples to painful pressure; my back arches and my neck bends with a mouth gone dry. It is impossible to be anything but a pliant female when he demands it. He is everything my body responds to and he knows how to bend my mind to his every will. He crushes me to him when he kisses my mouth, sometimes hard enough I fear he’ll leave them bruised. Then gently brushes my hair off my forehead so he can kiss my temple.

He watches every nuance with such intense focus. So many emotions run across his face. He tries so hard to keep closed off and then his eyes betray him. He tries to keep the upper hand and yet my response to him, when I cry out, when I whimper, all of it shows on his face like he is gathering it into his chest. He holds back. There is so much concentration and power while he is centered on bringing me pleasure and rendering me helpless. And then once I am, once tears leave the corners of my closed eyes and he spills himself inside me, giving himself to me, he cradles me.

There is so much raw gentleness as he pulls me against him and keeps me there. He doesn’t tell me whatever is going on inside of his head while he is struggling, but there is a calmness then. It’s more than comfort and calming. It’s like he is allowing himself those few moments of vulnerability and there are no shields between us, no shadows behind his beautiful eyes, being fought. And he keeps touching me. And because when he touches me, I respond. He feels the shift as we are in tuned to the others needs and nuances and once again, we are engaged in the softer exchange of carnal release. Different the second time, no less intense for it’s lack of  initial urgency, but all the more heightened because of inflamed nerves and rawness of newly branded skin.

I know I am not his priority. He is damaged beyond my reach to heal or save him and I no longer care to try. But I love this man. If he knew it would terrify him. Maybe he does and it’s why he needs to keep his emotions separate from his physical needs, because then he can keep me compartmentalized and it makes it easier to explain his intense physical reactions to me, to himself. I love him enough to not let him control my life or pine for him, while he is determined to remain lost at sea, because that’s what he knows and is comfortable with. I’ve let him go, so I can live. But it doesn’t mean I stopped loving him or want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life.

And these brief moments I allow myself, are only when I can no longer function. When my need for him, interrupts my sleep and clouds my day. When my body ache for his touch is fiercely flowing along my nerves and I become dysfunctional as I eroticize  everything around me. Nothing and no one can can satiate me and set me to come back into myself, like he does. It’s a driving, biological need I can’t ignore or overcome. And so I whimper against his mouth, to come into me. And he does.

 

Posted in Affair, erotica, Relationships | 1 Comment