I find the weight of their head as it rests on my lap so comforting. It helps that I can play with their hair with one hand and rub their back with my other. After all, our relationship is maintained by touch. The movie keeps going in the background of my thoughts, but it isn’t important. It doesn’t mean anything compared to how their hair feels between my fingertips, how their scalp presses back against my touch, or how they arch into my other hand as it gently pushes their shirt up so I can feel the smooth skin on their back.
I don’t want to be the moon not to you. She’s too remote, too cold. Instead I’ll be the warmth of the hearth, the smell of fresh baked bread that you come home to. I’ll be the passion borne of knowing, of understanding. The arms surrounding you holding you tight.
My babygirl is stirring slightly. Maybe it’s my left hand down her pajama bottoms cupping her vulva with two fingers gently stroking her labia. Maybe it’s that my clit is hard against her from behind. It doesn’t matter. I knew she would wake up eventually. I knew she would want this. She’s been letting me know for weeks that she needed it. I whisper in her ear, “Babygirl, you’re so wet for mommy, aren’t you?
To have a small garden with you, filled with flowers of all colors, blooms I’ve not used for love poems for anyone else, in any other time, that would be perfectly ideal. But the world is not a garden. Real life is a tangle of thorns, roses with berry canes and blooms. And I have done it all before, but not half so well as with you. Life is not simply a bouquet.
I’m nervous? Why am I nervous? I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve done this thousands of times before with so many different people. I’m good at this. Of course, this is the first time we are in the same place together after months of just being a voice and a face on the screen. I lead her in through the porch, to the door that only goes to my room.
I grip them by the hair and pull up. My hard clit falls out of their mouth as they rise to their feet. A thin stream of saliva drips down their chin. I stand with them, pushing my chair away with my heel. They look me in the eyes, tears glistening in the flickering candlelight. I tighten my grip on their hair. It isn’t as if I was not enjoying myself.
I buckle on the collar and they let out a low moan. I almost can’t hear it, it is so soft. “That’s right, love. I know this is what you need.” We’ve been going back and forth with me wrestling them down and putting them in their place all afternoon, lazily establishing dominance and letting it slip away so we can start over again. I think maybe, just maybe, they have reached the point where they want to give in completely.
My hand finds her hair and I slide my fingers in at the nape of her neck. A single twist and I have most of her hair in a tight knot around my hand. She’s waking up to this, to my hard clit pressing against her ass, still sticky and rough from our sex earlier. “Fuck! Miss!” She twists her head to look me in the eyes. I tug harder, pulling into the arch of her back.
I let the bike idle for a second before I kill the engine. The thumpy twin has my clit tingling already, though it probably helps a little that she’s pressed up tight behind me, the only thing between us, aside from my leather jacket and our clothes, is my knife in its sheath in my waistband. I turn my head to look over my left shoulder. “You can get off now.
I didn’t know what I neededwhen I stepped away.I took time to myselfto heal. There was grief over a dream(two dreams, really)after so much so muchfor them. All I needed was to knowmyself, my goals, my passions.To renew my lovefor love.