It has been a restless day.
Leaning against my car at dusk, the silhouette of the ponderosas on the tree line across the lake is now telling me that my day will be done soon. A day of so much done, yet so much more left still to do.
Deep down, I feel an emotion starting to take root within me. I believe it is one that I imagine only prolific writers must as know the feeling of well. As the words start coming out, one after another, I tell myself that this written piece should be different from the others.
This one needs to be special, My Love.
It’s a special moment after all — my expression should reflect that. So rather than write a memoir of our history together, or depict the scene of an erotic encounter that is inevitably sure to come or even just a musing of our romance, I opted for the simple.
I figure I’d drop the pen, and just write to you what I really want to say inside.
Just an old fashioned love letter, to my girl.
I love you.
I love you more than I could fathom that I ever could love a woman. I truly believe than in all our lives, nobody will ever love the other as much as we do each other.
When I met you, I was four decades deep into an already happy life that I was complicit with. So many things had come and gone in my years, and by most accounts, I was very fulfilled.
Something was always missing though and I knew it — I just didn’t know that thing was you.
The day you entered my world was like any other; nothing special about it, but that would quickly change. Like a jolt of electricity, once I knew you past the formalities, you shook me to my core.
In all my years I never had met a woman like you.
By the time we dedicated one solid week of getting to know each other, I was done for. Nothing in my life ever felt quite like what would happen next.
Two people, madly falling in love, exposing those things that we would not dare share with another soul. Opening up the inner monologue that was sealed up for decades, both of us spilled out our souls and hearts to the other.
Shared journals became vehicles for getting closer to each other. Playlists of songs like Orange Sky and I Will Follow You Into The Dark became mantras, sung in your absence incessantly, acting as an anchor to hold onto the feeling of you and your beauty for the few hours we were apart every day.
The taste of your mints when I kissed you first. The feel of your hair when ran it through my fingers and pulled. The way you talk, when you are happy. The way you talk, when you’re mad.
I think if there is one thing I keep coming back to, it is the way I become a better man because of you. Before you, I would never give a damn enough what someone thought to look inward and want to change the parts of myself that I knew needed changing.
When I take a birds-eye view of this love and romance we’ve found, the gut reaction is that I never want to know a day without it, for the rest of my life. I never want to know a day, without you in it.
I want the nights to be ones like you ache for.
Where I wake to your self-rewarding servitude. Where I pull you back into bed so I can devote my morning’s first kiss to the lips between your legs, making you swallow whatever willpower you thought you had woken up with, as the first of many orgasms you’ll have that day courses through you at sunrise.
Those mornings where you serve me coffee, and I cook you an omelet. You look like a goddess while you stand there wearing a collar around your neck. We read the morning paper and I can’t take my eyes off of you. I tug on the leash so I can pull you in and kiss you, tell you “I love you,” and then we crack open our laptops and kick the world’s ass just one more time.
That enchanting day, where I feed you a nutritious lunch through my cock at noon. You look up into my eyes and say thank you without a sound. Where I take your body at our afternoon break and use it how I please, and submitting your body to me, pleases you in and of itself.
You collapse into me and we finish the day as one.
In all my days I never thought I would be such a romantic; such a sadist at the same time. When grip you by the meat of your cunt and squeeze, pull you in, yank you by your hair all so that I may kiss you and tell you I adore you.
Perplexing is an understatement.
I want to fuck you so hard and I want to hurt your little holes when I do it. I crave to put my hands around your throat and clutch; to force you to cum when I allow it and only then.
To put you on my lap and pet your hair, which we watch whatever the hell is still left on Netflix that doesn’t suck. To stare at your beautiful face for a few moments when you are sleeping. To listen to whatever you want to say. To show you off to everyone I know and publicly adore you.
To throatfuck you, while saliva and tears pour down your olive-skinned chest. To bind you, with each foot tied to your hands, spread eagle so I can use your holes and you can feel the panic set in while you just decide to give in, release your submissive self to me, and know Daddy will always do best by you.
To take care of you when you need it. To be there for you, when you need me.
To use you.
To love you.