Three Simple Words

Last night, M and I went to bed earlier than usual. We’d talked a little and were just lying there quietly, spooning, as is usual when we are going to sleep. I’d assumed he was drifting off, when I heard the most amazing three words in my ear. Simple, beautiful words.

“Kay, I’m happy.”

They kind of took me off guard.

“Happy about what?”

“You, us.”

And the breadth of that sunk in. I was speechless for a bit. We’ve talked so much about our relationship, about our evolution. We talk about how happy we are with the way things are going and about components of our dynamic, all the time. But, to hear that phrase, out of the blue, from this man who has historically not been the one to initiate emotional topics, was overwhelming.

I rolled over to face him, but it was so dark in our room, I couldn’t see his eyes. His eyes are always so telling, but I didn’t need to see them last night. I knew he meant it. I heard it in his voice, I felt it in his hands and in his body wrapped around mine. Most of all, I’ve experienced it in his behavior, day in and day out. I watch him, I feel and absorb his happy, too.

“Me, too. I never imagined I could be this happy.”

“It took such courage to bring this up. I love you.”

Again, I was taken aback. He was lying there with me, expressing to me how happy he is, and I knew as he said it that he is truly thankful for this journey. Just as thankful as I am.

“I love you, too.”

Those three simple words – they are all I ever wanted to hear, I think. They are all I’ll ever need.

Annie’s Birthday

Several months ago
Onto WordPress she arose
A breath of fresh air
In both poetry and prose

An instant connection
Understanding so rare
Holding a place in my heart
She’ll always be there

So, on this Annie’s birthday
Our twisted, bright-eyed friend
For a whopping 56
Over Beloved’s knee she’ll bend

Make each one count, Mr. Beloved
She ain’t no geezer
But she deserves every one
She’s rotten just like Ouiser

Love,

Kay (Clairee)

“Well, you know what they say: if you don’t have anything nice to say about anybody, come sit by me!”

Clairee Belcher, Steel Magnolia’s

She Believed Him

She could see him standing in the doorway, paused. Struggling to keep quiet, the tears escaped, she couldn’t even contain them anymore. Hugging her pillow, she felt the wave of emotion, trying to make sense of it. She knew she needed him, more than ever. With everything, all of her being. And she needed him to know, for there to be no question.

Hunched over her pillow cradled in her arms, she sat with her legs crossed, her back against the headboard, watching him with blurry eyes. Needing him, but worried she might need him too much. That her need might push him away, that it might be more than he ever bargained for.

“M, I’m sorry,” she said, those words coming easily, now. “It’s me I doubt, not you.”

She’d finally let him see all the parts she’d hidden so well for all those years. The parts she knew had pushed others away, or caused her to push others away. The murky, dark parts, the irrational, broken-feeling pieces.

“You are my life. My love. I’m not going anywhere. You could NEVER truly disappoint me. Ever,” he said as he sat down next to her on the bed, looking into her watery, green eyes. She saw the love and acceptance in his eyes. She felt his arms wrap around her, one hand tucking her cheek against his chest, his chin resting on her head.

As he sat there holding her, his embrace reminded her he’s all in. Hell, his behavior over the past decade had proven he’s the most trustworthy person she’s ever known. He was worth the risk. They were worth it.

Now, the tears really flowed. For the first time in her life, she felt safe and whole.

She believed him.

She Can Imagine

She could still see him standing there in the doorway, paused. Struggling to keep quiet, the tears escaped, despite her best efforts to contain them. Biting her pillow, she muffled as much of the crying sound as possible. Oh god, more than anything she wanted him to turn around and come to her. To scoop her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. She wanted to feel safe, she wanted to hear it and believe it. Yet, there was also this part of her that didn’t even want him to acknowledge she was crying. Who didn’t want his sympathy. Who didn’t need his help. That same part of her who wanted him, but might never be able to admit how much she needed him. To breathe.

Hunched over her pillow cradled in her arms, she sat with her legs crossed, her back against the headboard, watching him through blurry eyes. Needing him, but that other part of her willing him to walk away. To save himself the ache.

“You are my life. My love. Why won’t you let me in?,” he asked as he turned to face her.

But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know there’s nothing there. It’s a swirling mess of darkness and ugly. It’s cold in there. No one who has ever seen any part of it has wanted to stay. No one.

“I’m trying,” she said, desperately hoping he’d believe her.

As he stood there looking at her, she saw the pain in his eyes. Those eyes that told her he’s all in. Hell, his behavior over the past decade had proven he’s the most trustworthy person she’s ever known. Which makes it all the more risky to really let him in. There’s more to lose.

And she can imagine losing it.

Just Breathe

I remember sitting in my corner dorm room on the light blue carpet, blanket spread out, eating dinner and talking with M. Pearl Jam playing in the background, the Ten album. Eddie Vedder and his deep, unique voice. Lyrics that made you think and feel deeply, ones which sparked many a conversation between us. Those lyrics and that voice always kept us coming back. We bought it all, we listened to it all and talked about it. We still do.

In all our years, I’ve never seen such a deeply emotional reaction from M when he listened to any song, not just a Pearl Jam song. This one hit home, for me too. I can’t even listen to it without tears anymore. In the most simplest of terms, with an honest, acoustic tune, in less than 4 minutes, we are reminded of so many things.

Just Breathe, by Pearl Jam

Yes, I understand that every life must end, uh-huh
As we sit alone, I know someday we must go, uh-huh
Oh I’m a lucky man, to count on both hands the ones I love
Some folks just have one, yeah, others, they’ve got none

Stay with me…
Let’s just breathe…

Practiced all my sins, never gonna let me win, uh-huh
Under everything, just another human being, uh-huh
I don’t wanna hurt, there’s so much in this world to make me bleed

Stay with me
You’re all I see…

Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t I’m a fool you see
No one knows this more than me

As I come clean…
I wonder everyday, as I look upon your face, uh-huh
Everything you gave
And nothing you would save, oh no

Nothing you would take
Everything you gave…

Did I say that I need you?
Oh, did I say that I want you?
Oh, if I didn’t I’m a fool you see
No one knows this more than me
And I come clean, ah…

Nothing you would take
Everything you gave
Hold me til I die
Meet you on the other side……

Just Breathe.

Tickle Me M

I’m a touch junky. I live for M’s touch. Okay, maybe I’m really a sensory junkie, because I live for his everything – his unique smell, the way he tastes in all his yummy places, his husky voice and all the soul affirming sounds he makes with me. His presence, not just the way he looks (but, he is sexy as hell), but the way I feel him near me. The way I feel him, feeling me. The way I feel him feeling. All of it. I live for all of it. But, touch is on a different plane. When he touches me, my body reacts immediately. Intensely. My entire being reaches out to him and latches on. All the rest of my senses are heightened, on high alert and sensitive, my thoughts focused on only him and all else pauses, just from a simple touch. I love his touches. Except, tickling. I thought it was different. I thought I hated it.

I am sooooo ticklish. There are a few spots that when touched, can bring me to my knees or might result in the tickler brought to his or hers. Fight or flight……that was my response. That pain/pleasure threshold is an odd one with tickling, isn’t? My M thinks it’s odd….and intriguing. He knows how ticklish I am. In the past, I would beg him to stop or even lash out inadvertently, to try to get him away, to stop the tickling. I’d get angry. Yet now, M likes to do this thing…….My first thought when he did this thing, was that he must be crazy. Why would this be fun……unless you are a true sadist? It’s torture, so it seemed. But, I walked away thinking differently.

Usually with a grin, he’ll lie next to me and tickle me, knowing it will make me hyper sensitive, all my senses, but especially sensitive to his touch. He makes sure to hit all the spots that make me crazy. At some point, as he lies next to me, his touches become less aggressive, but still purposefully touching upon those same places that would normally make me fight or flee, and he will command me to be still as he does so. I watch his hands. I see where they are going. I know he will be touching those spots. I concentrate. His scent surrounds me. I hear his commands in my ear and I feel the warmth of his breath on my skin, the rise and fall of his chest against me. And his feel has shifted. His playfulness is still there, but it’s laced with a knowing mastery, I feel it. He knows my body, he knows how my mind works. He knows he can make me, that if he wishes me to be still and trust, I will. I know he can, and he knows I know it, too. I know I’ll allow it, that I’ll surrender, and he knows that, just the same. There’s no question.

That mastery, that he knows I will surrender, despite what my brain has told me should be the response to this tickling business, it creates this shift in the touch from discomfort to erotic. Those touches illicit an entirely different bodily response. There is no more fight or flight. That trust has changed my entire perception. Instead of wriggling and trying to push his hands away, or begging him to stop, I feel my breathing change. In my stillness, I seek out his eyes. I feel my nipples harden, each touch sending a rush of radiating heat. I feel the muscles in my backside clenching, slightly raising my hips to him. I want him. I want whatever he is doing, whatever he wishes to do, for however long he’ll do it.

Not only has the world around me paused and my entire being focused only on him, but he’s taught my brain that it can override it’s instinctual reaction. He’s allowed me the strength to do so, simply by following. By trusting him. And when I think about that…wow. This is but one example of that being so. He’s allowed me the freedom to slow down and override or rewire so many faulty or instinctual, negative reactions. He continues to allow me to do so. It’s so empowering, isn’t it?

M…..I’ll be still. I’ll surrender. And I’ll always follow.

Getting Off the Pot

I’ve mentioned before that I feel as if so many things about this life I’ve built don’t quite fit anymore. The job issue is one that is difficult to talk about, because as we’ve grown, M has outgrown his job, too. So here we are, so happy in our personal lives, yet so unhappy with our careers, at the same time. It’s such a difficult position to be in. We both have so many feelings about it, and we are so connected and in tune with one another, those feelings are always just under the surface. They don’t necessarily create friction or strife, but there is always this under layer of sadness and worry. I feel it. He feels it. But it seems there’s not much to be done about it, nothing we aren’t already trying to do. He has been interviewing for promotions all over the US. We have been on this road of ups and downs with this interview process, researching areas and schools systems and housing markets, knowing there may be a chance we’ll be uprooted if he gets the job. Worry and more worry, wondering if it will mean we’ll need to live apart for a time. Then, the let down of being the second choice, over and again. Feeling stuck in the meantime, both of us. And there’s me, also excited at the prospect of starting over and being able to let this business go, yet scared to death of not being marketable to do a damn thing. If we stay and there’s no promotion, we will remain stuck. We’ve been discussing school options and business options to try to help our situations. We just keep communicating.

Last night M and I were talking about this job stuff, again. He said something that moved me, so much.

M: I was thinking a lot when you were gone today and I wanted to talk to you about something. I need to know if you have any strong feelings about it, one way or the other.

Me: Okay.

M: I realized that in my last interview, I didn’t tell them the whole truth.

Me: What do you mean?

M: I told them I’d be happy in the lateral position, that I could be happy relocating my family because of their amazing community, but that’s not true. I realized in the last week, I’ve still been looking for other upward opportunities. I know I’d still keep looking. I can’t relocate us, purely for money and a big name, knowing I’d still be looking and that could result in another move for our family. I can’t do that to us, I don’t want to risk that. I can’t lie to them either. I want to cancel the interview this week.

Me: If this is truly what you want, I support you. I love you. I want you to be happy.

M: I can be happy with my job. I can go to work and derive my happiness from the little things, you know that. The source of my happiness is at home – it’s you and the girls. I am happy here, you ground me, and I can be happy anywhere because of you. I love you so fucking much.

Me: I can be, too. I will be. I fucking love you, too.

He’s right. It would be absolutely wonderful to love and have a passion like I used to for what I do. It would be awesome if M loved his boss and the situation were conducive to what he’d like to do for the department in which he works. Yet, here we are, amidst the opposite of those ideals, despite trying to remedy the situations.

So, as my mom would say, it’s time to shit or get off the pot. Getting of the pot isn’t happening right now, so I guess that leaves just one option…….

Time to make this shit the best shit we can make of it. We have one another to lean on for support, we are the other’s source of happiness. Time to do a better job of drawing upon that, to let that passion flow over as much as possible to make our situations the best we can make them. Until we can get off the pot.

All That Matters

Annie’s post has had me thinking so much about my body image. It’s been an ongoing struggle for me, especially in the last 20 years. Despite having lost a lot of weight, my body is not the way I’d envisioned it would be. It’s difficult sometimes to feel good about it when I look in the mirror and I see skin and sagginess and clothes that don’t fit the way I’d like them to. But M sees something entirely different. When I look into his eyes, I see what he sees. I believe, without a doubt, the he loves what he sees, both inside and out. And that’s all that really matters, isn’t it? That’s what I always remind myself, when I’m having trouble loving what I see, or I’m doubting what I have to offer. If he loves all of me, why can’t I?

Sinking slowly upon him
Curls surround her face
Hands on hip and throat
Orchestrate the pace

His face is so revealing
Those eyes see to her core
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says
But, his eyes reveal so much more

Fingers gripping headboard
Breath trapped in her lungs
Eyes downcast to meet his
Gnashing teeth and dancing tongues

“Breathe,” he gently reminds her
Two hands holding her stare
Exhaling what she held back
Her soul to him is bare

Forgetting how that skin feels
As she leans or arches to please
About how it must be seen
As she undulates on her knees

That look upon his face
Is her reflection, her true core
For what she sees in his eyes
Is all that matters anymore

She rides him with abandon
Following his voice in her ear
Body a vessel for expression
She desperately needs him to hear

“Come for me,” he commands
Voice so confident, yet tender
She gives what he desires
Her pleasure the surrender

On the Road

Today is M’s birthday. Last night, as he was snuggled me on the floor, he said it was so odd to think it’s possible he’s lived more than half of his life already, but he couldn’t believe how happy he is. Then, it went like this….

M: You know, it’s time for my midlife crisis, right?

Me: I think you’re already crazy.

M: That means tomorrow I’m buying a sports car.

Me: Oh, really?

M: Nah……..you’re my sports car.

Me: What do you mean?

M: I mean…..I don’t need a sports car……YOU make me feel young (as he begins to bite my back and run his hand up my leg).

Me: Mmmmmm………

M: And I can drive you whenever I want.

Vroom, vroom.

Happy birthday, My Love!

I Daydream

I daydream, all the time. Not all that long ago, I remember lying on my bed during a quiet moment, daydreaming of our future. I remember thinking of M and I, so happy and thankful for having him in my life. In awe that he is still here, with me. That he still chooses me, every day. I began to imagine our future as our older selves, empty nesters with time to spend together. I imagined what we’d do with our time, how we’d fill our days once there were no kids at home or jobs to answer to, just the two of us. There was anxiety. And tears. And guilt.

Without a doubt, I knew I wanted to spend that time with M, but I worried we’d be bored of one another. Maybe we’d live in the city, because I imagined we’d need to have many things to do around us, so we’d have activities to occupy our time and things to talk about. I thought of all those couples I see, sitting in restaurants, looking around the room or fiddling with their phones, with seemingly nothing to say to one another. And I remembered some of those awkward times of our own, when our talk revolved around work or the girls, but the rest felt forced at times. There was happiness…..but something was missing. Something I wanted, so badly, and I knew he did too. Something I’d been trying so hard to move toward within myself, to become more available to him and let down my guard. We needed a deeper connectedness between us, an openness. The freedom to just be. I knew we had to keep moving toward that, whatever that meant……because I did not want to be those people. All that guilt and anxiety was because I felt terrible for not having taken further steps toward lasting changes, fear that I might not be able to, and worry that it would affect our future. That we’d be those people. That we’d get to a certain point and realize we missed an opportunity to really live and enjoy one another.

The other night, M and I were at dinner, snuggled in on the same side of the booth, talking. We’ve been discussing our immediate and long-term futures a lot lately, for many reasons. He shared with me his daydreams…visions of us living in a natural, scenic area, gardening, sipping coffee on the porch talking away, and enjoying the outdoors, all the time. Living in a peaceful place, away from the hustle and bustle. He asked me if I thought about what it will be like when we are alone, he wanted to know if I daydream. I shared with him what my daydreams used to be like, that I worried for us, once upon a time. But now, when I daydream, I don’t dream of any such busyness to occupy our time, no constant entertainment. I dream of just the two of us, talking and laughing, no matter what we do, or where we are. Walking in the gardens, hiking in the mountains, sitting on the porch, or chasing grandkids around the yard. Even in quiet moments, I see him, holding my hand and never being bored. Ever. Happy, just being. The same freedom to be ourselves and appreciate one another.

I’ve reached a place where my daydreams of us are truly peaceful ones. I’m hopeful in a way I’ve never been. My daydreams are free from some of the worry that has plagued my entire existence, until now. There’s a safety and security in what we have that I didn’t know I could feel. A lasting one.

I know we’ll weather whatever life throws us. Together.