I am not sure what I noticed first if it was your smell or the warmth of your body as you lay next to me. It could be the rounded curves, exciting and comforting. Someone once said that no one ever had fun driving on a straight road, my preference has always been towards curvier women. Your curves are multi dimensional, the wonderful supine flow from your shoulders, dipping down to your waist, and then rising once more at those sexy hips. There was the other curve the started from the waist as you lay on your side, scooping over your rounded tummy, down into a drift of pleasure between your legs.
Mornings like this are what heaven is made of. The smell of your hair as I spoon you is comforting. I bury my nose in it and revel in your choice of leave in conditioner that smells of coconut and reminds me of pina coladas on the beach in the summer. I love the differences in colour of our skin, my midnight blackness and your cafe au lait hues. Not that I can see because my eyes are shut but I imagine. I take pride in us, two women in love; I have never loved anyone like I love you, it is deep seated and comes from a place within that I never knew existed. That old trope of unlocking something deep inside I always used to meet with a sarcastic eye roll and a sneer. Then I met you.
Snuggling closer I allow my hand to wander south. Lips parting as they would for a kiss, you like to be shaved but I can feel missed stubble that contrasts beautifully with that soft tender skin. Separating them allows your sexual scent to meander up and encapsulate my imagination. I want to explore further into your inner chamber, the silky slickness. I want your cum over my fingers, I want to dive between your legs and feast on your pleasure, your wetness smeared over my face echoing your body being smeared over the bed sheets. I want to go down and with my 'come hither' finger on your g-spot, stroking it into action and persuade your body that squirting all over my face is a thing that it wants to do. I love making your squirt, it isn't something you do regularly but the shame on your face is enchanting. That erotic shame where you are both proud of your body and appalled. Your toes curl and your feet intertwine, your chin goes down as do your eyes and your shoulders raise in an attempt to protect you from your embarrassment. Of course for me it is sexual heroin, it feeds my lust for you, makes me yearn for you even more like some crazed addict.
I breathe again, collecting my thoughts in this half sleep, half wake state of mine. Your smell and mine combine to make a unique, raw sexuality that clings to my hind brain causing me to moan involuntarily. I pull you closer.
Reality is an evil mistress. I pull the duvet around me realising that I have snared my legs in its softness. Caustic reactions run through my core, the acid erosion of reality that you are not here and never will be again. Wicked, treacherous tears prick my eyes. Emotions choking my throat, throttling my attempts to breathe which come in painful shards stabbing my heart causing it to bleed out killing me completely.
Seven years, seven whole fucking years since you left me, since you went off with someone else. I don't know, or really care, who she is/was but the act of violating our trust, our love has crushed me. I am merely a ghost of who I was. An echo. Unreal in my existence. I eat, sleep, go to work; I even occasionally fuck others but they are not you, they are not us. I had magic. I now have a dried out skeleton of who I was. The now familiar ennui flows over me as I try to find five things to be grateful for just as my therapist has advised before I get up on this ground hog day.
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