After months of teasing each other out, after week after week of slowly shedding the veil, after days upon days of passionate intensity, after hours of needing and aching for each other's scent, taste, skin, heat, after all this time and lavished attention and words sweet and sultry and downright filthy, after one hundred and twenty minutes and one hot fuck, it is all over.
From where I sit, hands hugging my steaming cup of tea, Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery look back at me. They look back at me as I do the same, looking back on this time and feeling as if everything yet absolutely nothing has changed.
My encounter with him has left me wanting, longing, yearning. It has stirred and shaken and unsettled deep desires, both dark and light, desires now adrift and free floating without a warm body to anchor them or bring them to life.
Alone once more, I gaze at the grey sky wondering about the possibilities waiting out there for me on this cold winter's day.
2 comments:
I'm sorry that it wasn't quite all you had hoped for (at least, I get that much by reading between the lines).
But....the possibilities are endless. Only require that you find the proper partner to enact them with you. Those dark desires, those floating urges, those half-seen fantasies -- they can all be yours. Go and make it so!
-- PB
It's not exactly a matter of it not being all I wanted it to be PB, just a reflection on the flatness that can result after such passionate intensity. And when you filter this through bleak weather, the words can be a little, um, dark!
And as for possibilities, there is a very promising, gorgeous man lavishing me with sexy words and attention...
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