Stolen

I miss you, and I have so little time to tell you just how much. Today, I feel so tied, so restricted, so unable to move. I am not used to be made to be still. Take that how you will.

I look forward to seeing you soon. I always do, you know?

I miss you. Tonight it is a deep, sad ache, even though I have had time with you. I wish I could reach out, but know I cannot. Two simple words with such complexity behind them: you know.

Harder

I love the idea of you touching yourself and thinking of me. Countless times I have done the same, thinking of you. Show me what I want to see. Put your hands between your legs and let me watch. Play in front of me. Let me see you drive your fingers deep. I need to lose myself in the whirlwind of your scent and touch and sighs. I ache to explore you, my head wrapped between your thighs, tongue pushed deep seeking your taste. I need to fuck you, as hard as you can take, harder even. Your sighs, your whimpers, your cries all feed me, all satisfy my craving. I want to swallow your pain and swallow your pleasure.

I want you naked, want to lay my head on your hip, to drink in your scent. I will cover you with kisses and nips, will pinch and bite and scratch. I will be soft and be rough. I will arrange you how I want you. I will display you the way I want to see you. I will wring your pleasure out of you. You continually please me, tease me, give me what I want, but you haven't the slightest idea of what I can do for you. I will take you on your knees, my fingers inside you setting the motion of your body. I will take you on your back, your legs spread wide. I don't want some quick fuck. I will take all the time I need to enjoy your body, and you'll let me. I will leave you spent and dripping. Give yourself over to me.

Under my skin

Some mornings I am in and out of sleep with my mind already churning out what I want to say on the page.

What is it about a good solid hug that can make nearly anything better? My thoughts keep returning to your arms tight around me while I broke down. You held me solidly when I shook with the tension of anger and hurt and frustration, your firm hold making it okay to let it out, to collapse but not fall. I keep returning to that feeling of utter support and safety. When I said that I was tired of feeling not good enough you asked if that was a feeling just from work. It is not. When I feel defeated all the old anger and frustration comes back. I was made to feel not good enough, to feel that I was lacking, to feel that anything that goes wrong is my fault and that is a feeling I will not stand for anymore. Some days I fail at fighting it, but in your arms, even hurt and tired, I do not feel those old ghosts. What you make me feel means so much more than you know. Thank you.

The unhurried moments when I am able to touch you as I'd like are pure heaven. I cannot help but to reach up and rub your ear lobe, or press my lips to the corner of your eyes. Such a simple brush of your skin and mine leaves me so content, so happy.  I look forward to every moment in your presence; just seeing your beautiful face calms me. What have you done to me, love?

Exposure

You want to know more about me, and maybe writing it isn't the way to go, but I'm feeling like putting myself up on the page. All art is exposure in some way. Even when the artist reveals himself cryptically, the viewer sees more than they might understand. That says something right there...do I feel my writing is art? Isn't that a little egotistical? I don't think it is. Writing is creating. Creating is art. I'm not saying this is great art...and all art is about perception.

I am a hardcore introvert. I have been incredibly shy most of my life, and it has only been this job and travelling that have dissipated some of that timidity. I am social and I no longer shrink away from speaking with strangers, but it was certainly a journey to get here. If my confidence level occasionally dips now, take a second to imagine where it wallowed before.
I still require plenty of time by myself to recharge and I get positively irritable when I do not receive that much needed solitary time. That said, I do not need to be alone today.

What causes the desire to be seen? What causes the desire to expose oneself for others' eyes? I adore the beat generation because they lived and loved and obliterated themselves right in front of everyone and did not care. They lived explosively. They were mad, and unashamed.

I adore museums because each work of art is the pure soul of the artist hanging from a peg, framed in gorgeous gold baroque curlicues. These were people who said, "Look what I have to show you," and offered up their world. It's all about exposure, and passion. Everything must be done with passion or not done at all. Why hide when you have something that beautiful within?

You

The energy between us has shifted. All of this time I have been tentative with my touches, cautious about where I place my hands; I have been reading your cues. You know you can have what you want of me; you have had me, and undoubtedly will again, as you please. You have the freedom to be bold. I am still uncertain about what you will allow me to do, and so I wait.
I need clear permission from you. I need your assent. Even tucking my thumbs under your belt for a few seconds longer than you were comfortable with yesterday leaves me unsettled. I don't want to push your boundaries. I don't want to cause you any discomfort, but jesus I want you.

I like you vulnerable with me. I adore every second of your attention, your kisses, nips, caresses, slaps. I would gladly let you do as you will with me for hours, but I think you underestimate how much I long for the same liberties with your body.

My thoughts keep returning to that moment yesterday, kneeling between your thighs, my hands under your shirt, those gorgeous lips of yours pressed to mine. Those little sighs were the first I think I have gotten out of you, and they echo in my mind. Seeing you clearly aroused and wanting me is absolutely unforgettable. I want more.

I badly wanted to continue undressing you, to unbutton the last of those buttons and peel that shirt off your arms. You can keep the undershirt if it makes you more comfortable, but that damned bra has to go. I want unfettered access to your beautiful breasts. There is no reason to keep them trapped away when I should be pulling your nipple into my mouth and rolling it between my teeth. I need to cover every inch of that smooth, pliable flesh with my lips. I need to explore you, make you sigh and blush.

It was so thrilling to be between your legs, my hands on your hips, pulling you against me; so thrilling to feel the muscles in your hips and thighs, so thrilling to imagine my face between those thighs. I wanted to yank your hips farther down, free you from your pants and see just how wet you were, but I kept my hands on your hips. I still need your permission.

You have no reason to be self-conscious. The things you perceive as flaws are things I just don't see. You are beautiful, and that's what I see. Do you want to know how sexy you are to me? Let me please you. Let me explore you, tease you, and take you. I want my fingers buried inside you; let me lick your juices from my fingers. It will be absolutely clear to you how genuinely I desire you. If my utter enthusiasm to please you isn't enough, if my ardent need to cover every inch of you with my touches isn't enough, then maybe the liquid proof between my own legs is enough. With every ounce of my attention focused on you, your noises, the scent of your skin, I am drenched. That is a fact you could easily check for yourself darling.

Random

//And is it worth the wait/All this killing time?/Are you strong enough to stand/Protecting both your heart and mine?//

There is no clear reason to wake after only an hour and half of sleep, but wake I did. I woke with a hot core of anger charging from me, a solid defiance burning my belly, and here I am. I will use every ounce of steel within this frame to make circumstances as they should be. I am determined. Gone are the times of maintaining the status quo. I am either advancing or I am falling behind, and I will not fail what I have set my mind to do.

I cannot be more clear, but do not intend to be vague. There are many issues swirling within my brain, each requiring more than I feel like I have to give. I cannot fall back on the platitudes so many rely on; no "everything turns out the way it should" will fix this.

I have so easily shown you my weakness, and now I hope you'll see my strength. You told me I had a look of defeat, told me you wanted to wrap your arms around me. I need your arms more than you know; know that you help steady me. I am tired of defeat. I am tired of confusion and restlessness. Yes, I am resilient, but I am about to test my endurance. No, I will not accept waking every night with despair and fighting that tide to return to restless sleep. I am weary to the core. There is no need to exist with this discontent.

There is something between us. This is no sophomore infatuation. Forgive me for taking liberties, but I feel this is the truth. Correct me if I go too far.
I cherish every fucking moment with you. More than anything our situation forces me to learn patience, to learn the value of the lesson.

I began writing this with all the backbone I could muster, but so quickly my backbone melts. Quell this ache. Steady me. Tell me everything will turn out fine, but if you say those words you'd better believe them. Give me the answers...why is it so easy to lean on you?