Realizing times passage

That moment in your otherwise ok life when you look up and remember what’s over the horizon and you are instantly overwhelmed. The past comes round again, no matter how much time passes, it’s always there lurking and ready to ambush you. Tarnishing your thoughts with grief and an impending sense of falling.

Today I wondered why I was feeling sad. I should be happier. Things are going ok. Then I realized, just over a month away is the 13 year anniversary of Morgan’s death.

And like that, I’m adrift.

Nightmares are also dreams, part 7

I emerge from the steam of the bathroom and see Tara moving under the covers. It seems that my girls are happy and who doesn’t like that. But Tara has a appointment to keep, so much as I would like to let this continue, I’ll likely need to cut it short. However, I can give them a few minutes.

I walk around the bed, past the side table, and into the walk in closet. The gunmetal tie, the black jacket and black pants are quickly selected and placed on the dressing rack. Now for what Tara will wear…a harder choice. I want her to look fierce yet sexy, to really show her how far I think she has come. I stand looking over the choices. I’m unsure of how best to demonstrate her progress. Then it hits me, something that is in counterpoint to what Jen and the other guards will wear. I find the pale peach jacket with matching peach pinstriped pants. Both cut to fit and with plenty of pocket space. She needs the room to be able to store her blade AND have her hands free should she need to use it. For the shirt, a plain white silk, and a peach pocket square….and suspenders with little pictures of mice and bowls of milk. For shoes…I think the dyed to match suede low heeled boots. Peach is such a hard color to match but it’s Tara’s favorite. But if one piece is peach, generally all have to be.

I can hear the moans drifting in from the bedroom. It sounds like Sara is minutes away from orgasm. And that just won’t do.

I pop out of the closet and say, “Tara, dear, it’s time for your shower…Jen will be by in an hour to take you shopping and you must be ready.”

I hear a muffled response and walk to see what is happening. “Sara, release Tara… Please.”

Sara let’s go of the double handful of Tara’s locks and cranes her own head back to look at me. I can read the frustration on her face telling me that I stopped this just in time. Hell, astronauts on the ISS can probably read that expression. I just beam a smile at my very frustrated wife and waggle my fingers at her.

Tara slides off the bed and walks into the bathroom. She knows better than to step into the middle of this.

“Pel, what the fuck,” Sara asks, exasperation and frustration dripping off her tongue.

I let my face go cold and look her in eyes that have deepened to the color of a sea in storm. Her eyes telling me just how pissed she is.

I watch as the color bleeds out from storm to pale sky. She sees my normally active face go cold and still.

I walk to the bed and grab her arm, pulling her out of the illusion of safety and let her drop onto the hardwood. Stalking around her shocked body, I lean down and say, “Listen, little whore. You are mine to do with as I please. You don’t get a orgasm until I say you do.”

Sara shivers then goes still, sensing the direction Pel is taking her. Her soft reply of, “Yes, Sir,” is all but lost under the sound of the belt snapping sharp against her exposed buttocks.

It begins.

When a storm wakes

Warm flush crimson
Hidden
Fingertips dance a pattern of
Soon, soon
Laying safe in my arms
Pressing warm lips in tentative
Give way to the push of closer need
Actinic fire crashes
Distant and still
So close
No competition for the fission of fire
Tracing its way through my veins
Last part
And the fading taste of amaretto

Fierce kittens, Claws and snuggle

She sits miles away from my touch
Though I see her smile
Hear her infectious laugh
A chortle combined with giggle
Melts me
Smiles erupt across my face
Approach to stand so close
Feel our mingled body heat
But a touch in this place
Must be surreptitious
My ache grows
Day by day
Even a simple brushing of the fingertips
I understand those upper class Victorian novels now
That pent up frustration of a held hand
Have I met you you say in bravado
Smoldering, I respond, I don’t know
Have I?
More and more each day I think
Endless delight
Even in the drop of parting

Definitely needed more sleep

At 2 am I question my value as a person
There’s no poetry in that
Just a desperate attempt to understand
Not even trying to convince myself I’m not
Just wondering why, if I’m valued, I’m also discarded
Say that I’m better than this but really
If I am
Why is the result the same
I can’t even blame depression brain
Because I’m not depressed
Just
I don’t understand
If I’m so great
Deserve to be happy
Am worthy of love
Then why am I sitting alone in my bed at 2am
Wondering why
Maybe I’m not good at people
Maybe my hearts too weird to love
I don’t know
And not knowing is worse
If I knew and had done everything I could
That would be different
But I kinda don’t want to know
Cause maybe it’s just who I am