Anything and Everything

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I come from humble beginnings, filled with divorce after divorce, many moves, and uncertainty. I learned very early that the one person I could always count on was me. So I did. I didn’t need anyone for anything.

I’ve been married now for 19 years, and we’ve been together 24. Life hasn’t been easy, nor did I ever expect it to be. Nothing easy is worth much. Investment cultivates happiness, not ease. I’m invested; we’re invested. This is it for me. I know this to my marrow. And the biggest reason I do, is because I also know to my marrow that there’s another person in this world I can trust with anything. With everything. There is another person in this world on which I can count as much as I’ve ever counted on myself. More than. I don’t ever have to feel alone again.

My soul needs this man. Together, we can weather anything. Everything.

That is the most powerfully freeing feeling in this universe, I believe.

-image via Tumblr

My Surrender

I am no mindless fucktoy
kneeling at the feet of any commanding boy

I am no opinionless subvert
reciting ‘Yes, Sir’s’, wearing plaid skirts

I am no boundless subservient 
doing anything I’m told, devoid of dissent

I am no willing doormat
bowing down, to be looked down at

I am a strong, educated equal
bringing just as much to the relationship table

I am a soft woman, insightful and self-aware
I know where I’m going and I know how to get there

I earned my inner wisdom with blood, sweat, and tears,
and I won’t allow that to be belittled, manhandled by fear

For, I am submissive,
and I choose to follow him

I willingly offer surrender,
because his love is both fierce and tender

I give myself to him,
because my happiness is his seraphim

He values my voice,
so I surrender my choice

He knows what I need,
because he’s asked, not decreed
and he’s been by my side for 24 crazy years, 
sharing in all of the blood, sweat, and tears

I surrender to this man, 
who owns every inch of my heart,
but he doesn’t make me whole, 
that’s my responsibility, my equal part

-image via Tumblr, source unknown

I Could Get Used to This (She Thinks, Part One)

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Chopping and stirring, she shuffled about the small kitchen, readying dinner. “Come away with me, in the night, come away with me, and I will wri-i-ite you so-o-o-ongs,” she sang along with Norah Jones, swaying her supple hips to the sultry rhythm. There was something about Norah’s voice that electrified her, made her want to close her eyes and feel every note, made her daydream about arms wrapped tightly around her, flesh gripping kisses, and fists tangled around her curls. It fit this evening perfectly.

She sang and danced her way around the kitchen, grabbing the last few things she needed. Bending to reach the bottom cabinet, she smiled, the cool air on exposed flesh reminding her she was wearing no panties with the nighty he’d chosen, just as he’d asked. As she shimmied and shuffled, there was the constant grip of the soft, black leather around her neck, and the tinking of metal on metal, as the o-ring of her collar sung a crisp, comforting tune with every movement.

The blissful song of ownership.

And all she could think was, I could get used to this.

I Awake…


I awake to vibrations of electric blue
Afloat in a sea of me and you

Where time is waves of thrashing heat
And space is endless as our bodies meet

Eyes still unfocused, yet clearly I see
My soul knows every inch of the flesh against me

Molding together like sinking feet into sand
Or aching clay resting in the palm of your hand

Pushing and pulling like the moon and the tide
As my body to your commands does eagerly abide

~photo credit truenomads.com, reworking of an older poem

Liquefied


storm’s eye entrusted
within your palm,
glowing fury extends,
momentarily calm

closing space,
meeting trepidous skin,
lightning flashing,
gooseflesh begins

circling orbs,
as breathing catches,
creating peaks,
heat stinging like matches

slowly and deliberately,
traveling lower,
crackling and buzzing,
gaining power

or maybe that was you,
the eye of the storm,
shooting streams of light
against my form

finally reaching
my pinnacle of need,
with back-arching, sheet-twisting, lip-biting greed

my body awake,
every molecule alive,
thrumming and humming
in overdrive

then you touch me,
pure energy on skin,
and I liquefy
into a thunderous din

Photo is mine

Composition

as the morning breeze
whispers the melody
we made,
the sting and ache
echo last night’s chorus
with each movement,
replayed

the warm sheets still hum
our candlelit din,
a masterpiece composed
over willing skin

oh please, Maestro,
may we play that
song again?

-image credit Pinterest, reworking of some older prose

Placement

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restless,
shifting weight from foot to foot,
as He positions the prickly jute, 
concentrating on the way He winds it ’round,
on the way it comes to rest upon her skin, biting,
and not on He who is doing the winding,
He whose flesh grazes hers,
whose breath is heavy and hot against her neck,
whose soft, yet forceful lips leave a slightly wet, cool trail,
as He works his way ’round, up, through, and around

her loose fingers stray,
following that loud, ass-backward, inside voice she has,
the one who keeps shouting and pushing herself to the forefront,
the unsettled, messy girl who needs

and wants,
and needs

that noxious voice which permeates, 
spreading its unwanted tentacles nimbly
under the surface of her skin,
first taking hold of her thoughts,
then conquering every ribbon of unwilling, aching muscle

she tells those fingers to reach down
and to adjust,
to find and target each tiny imperfection,
to, with her selfish actions,
demand perfection and symmetry,
to fidget and forget about trust,
and patience

she overpowers,
she deceives

she defies, not only Him, but her

she knows what she needs,
but doesn’t want to know

so, she bucks and she pushes against the very binding she knows she truly needs

desperately

His binding,
His will,
His way

one last time, though she’s been warned,
she commands those deceptive fingers
to reach out,
to touch His tie

He slaps her wandering, distrustful, hand,
hard,
an echoing crack, a lingering, itchy, throbbing sting

and she smiles

a smile of defeat,
of humbling,
of placement

and then, she disappears

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-image found on Tumblr, source unknown; shared as part of Masturbation Monday

The Forest 

I’m lost in a forest of the tallest trees, inundated with wickedly bent, sinister trunks, and thicket so dense my feet can barely move, the air damp and heavy, sitting like rocks in my lungs.

Swiping and slashing, I claw at the overgrowth’s sharpness, aching to lift my legs and move, grasping for vines that might save me. Yet, I don’t want to be saved. I crave absolution. 

On tattered, tired, and bended knees, I offer you a ridged branch, begging for penance, desperate for your command, yearning for you to envelope me in the shelter of your palm. 

Help me be my vine.

And then I wonder, how heavy is that staff? Is the weight just too much?

You answer, you deliver. You take and give, give and take. With each strike, a little of you infiltrates me, suffocating the darkness, penetrating every fiber of muscle, saturating each porous bone, filling and filling until you seep up through every follicle and pore, spilling out and bending to my every contour, forming a shield upon my flesh that no thorn can puncture.

And now, I can weave my vine, with threads of you in the center, the strength in its core. 

Together we can conquer; we can see the forest though the trees. 

Stitched


On humble, bended knees, I wait
Eyes closed, listening for his gate

Slow, ascending footsteps near
I feel his presence more than hear

Butterflies flutter as my insides smile
Not unlike when I walked down the aisle

Leaning in, warm skin on skin
Arms around me, he begins

Light brown hue and earthy scent
Jute unraveled with intent

Where his fingers end, rope begins
The prickly strength a part of him

Diamond shape and knots are wound
Lastly, crotch rope tightly bound

Friction criss-crossed, his will spun
Earthly stitches weave us as one

Awakening spirit, whole self to life
I am His, more than his wife

~photo credit pearltree.com