Sex in the Shower and Other Musings...

Hello, my lovelies.
I do hope this wonderful year is finding you all well and perfect. As for me...well, I'm sure you can guess I am as perfect as ever.

                                                               ....still as goofy too...

Had a lovely night last evening with my Sir. He is also still as perfect as ever. Even after living with Him for a year, I find I like Him even more, understand Him a lot more, and still find Him sexy as hell. Though, the spankings have dwindled. Apparently I am a very good girl.

Which is why I get Sex in the Shower.

...mmmmm...

 

 

Now...we have all had sex in the shower. We all hope our overnight guests or roommates or even friends over for a short visit are NOT having sex in our showers. Why? Because...it..is...sacred.

There's soap for one thing.         That slippery, sliding, smooth, gliding
                                                    scented, slick, polished silk,
                                                    glistening as His hands come between...over, under, over again.

Then there's water.                     That warm, soaking, raining down
                                                    teasing splash, misting drizzle,
                                                    pouring moist where our bodies meet...in, out, in again.


There's heat.                               That spark, scintillation, coursing through,
                                                    the zeal, the scorch, the blaze,
                                                    scalding skin set alight ....before, after, before...again.

There's surrender.                       That giving in, appeasement, relenting to His want,
                                                    pure submission, relinquishing abandon to need,
                                                    eschewing forbearance and yielding...once, twice...again.

                                                                    .....nnnggggghhhhh..

As for Other Musings...check with me tomorrow.
I need a shower.

Emily



                                           


                                                 

Have You Missed Me?

Because I have missed you. But now I think,  it is time to come roaring back in true red redhead style.

So...here's a little update.

I can without a doubt say that I am in the most remarkable relationship of my entire life. Why? Because I simply AM...

                                                                      ...in love

I AM His. And He lets me know it by all the little things he does to set my life afire. Not only His amazing prowess in the bedroom, but His prowess at showing me what and who I AM...

                                                                        ...loved

I AM strong, and He lets me be strong.
I AM healthy in mind and body, and He encourages my health.

                                                                    ..trite but true

I AM brilliant and witty, and He loves those things.
I AM fun, and playful, and He plays.

                                                                      ....yum

I AM needy, at times, and He feeds me, with intelligent thought and conversation; with artful passion; with tenderness or Dominance, as He sees a need.

                                                                      ...or if I am in need


I AM Emily, a girl who has become a woman under His skillful caress.
I AM happy, happiness, light. I am safe, and I am free as a bird. His bonds have made me that.

                                                                ...and I am home



Emily

Learning...Selfishness

I find I am learning something every day. I don't always like what I learn, especially when I learn something new about myself.

                                                                                           "not head of the class"

One of the biggest things I have learned lately is that I have an enormous capacity to love. But this unfortunately is coupled with finding that when I love, I expect certain things to go along with it. However, when they don't,  I find myself disappointed, hurt, angry, and in the end feeling very selfish. As a submissive, that is a terrible way to feel.

I don't want to complain. truly I don't. But I seem to have a big mouth that doesn't open often prefaced with a lot of thought. I consider myself an intelligent person. I also say stupid things, and today I felt something I never wanted to feel from someone I care about a great deal. After complaining and having what I thought was a really good talk about my feelings regarding something I now look at as kind of silly, I felt that the someone I really care about had become slightly...withdrawn. I really hope I'm wrong.

There's only so much I can blame on my hair..or my temper...

                                                                                   "it's becoming somewhat legendary"

Every now and then I have to look at myself and realize that I do have the capacity for selfishness. For want. For wanting equality within something I take incredibly seriously. Maybe I shouldn't take it so seriously. Maybe if I didn't I would be a lot happier in the long run. But it's not really in my nature to do. And I want to be me.

So...as a submissive. What do I do? Continue to love in the same vein in which I have for the last few years? Or try very hard to strengthen and inure myself to hurt so that these "silly" conversations no longer arise? I will always blame myself first. In spite of what I wrote last night. And do forgive that one, dear readers. It was a rant, plain and simple.

                                                                                                "an embarrassing one"
I am always the first one I look at when things do not go as my over-active imagination dictates they should. What is it about me that makes me less desirable, less pleasant, less wanted, less perfect than I was before? And the pin point always turns to my reaction over the simple things. Or maybe the not so simple, as I end up making them far more complicated than they need to be by virtue of my selfishness. It really is a conundrum.

I know what I want. What I am only now just realizing is that it isn't entirely up to me to make it happen. Someone else has to agree with that want and make it happen. Someone else has to want it too. And if they don't, then the only option left to me is accept it and deal with it in the best way for us both. A heartbreaking option at best, but truly all there is.

I won't stop loving. I don't know how. I feel at times as if I will spontaneously combust with it. And perhaps that is exactly why it isn't returned with the same equality. Maybe, just maybe...I love too much.

 Emily

A Submissive's Gift...

I have been reading blog posts, Facebook posts, stories, and books written by submissives for years that glorify the contribution of the Dominant to the D/s relationship. Which is wonderful, please do not mistake me, but it IS a bit one sided. Why does no submissive write about what WE bring to the table? And, as always in MY format, capitalized submissive pronouns are perfectly acceptable.

                                                                             Our gift...

So...what do We bring, besides the obvious which is of course the gift of submission? And please do not say service. Submissives do not serve. We are not slaves. That is an entirely different ball of hot dripping wax. We don't blindly follow two steps behind waiting for orders or subtle cues to do our work. We do fall asleep on our knees waiting for certain Sirs to come to bed, but we do not do it out of a sense of service, but rather...of love.

ahhh...

That love could be blind. A lot of love is. However, we are very strong, intelligent, and wise...most of the time. And I think most true submissives would not willingly give their gift if they were not aware of the faults of their Dominant, but choose to love them anyway. And we do not love blindly anyway, but with purpose...to make our Dominants better, both in the bedroom and without, and in the process, improve ourselves.

the better we are..the stronger we give...

No Dominant is perfect. Our perception of them may be, but in reality, they are human, with human frailties just as we are.

So what do We bring?

Laughter, kindness, willing participation in our Dominant's fantasies and our own. We bring the patience we can muster, a giving spirit, support and help whenever it is needed. We give ourselves without question, and every ounce of strength we possess.

goes without saying...

We give fun in a sometimes not fun world. We give our attention and sometimes we give too much of that. We let them need us and know that we need them. We give them honesty even when we know that it may piss them off or make us vulnerable to being hurt. We speak openly if they desire it and are quiet if they want that.

try not to be Chatty Cathy...

We share our talents and poise, our perfect fashion sense, and not so perfect feet to warm theirs.

But, mostly, we give them our faults. Why do we do this?

sometimes we see them...sometimes we dont..

Because they alone have our complete and total trust to not abuse those faults but to use them to help make us better, so that we learn with each passing day how to please them, knowing deeply that in so doing, we best please ourselves.

my happy place...

Emily

P.S. We also give really..really good head...

When Words Were all We Had...

There was a time when words were all we had. We wrote them with care. With caution and with diligence. We used them as weapons of lust and desire, of seduction. When words were all we had...

...they were Your embrace

You understood the meaning they held when every one was chosen with precision and purpose. I knew their meaning, imbued with a knowledge that was all excitement at discovering that Your words could hold me in thrall for days on end. When words were all we had...

...they were the best sex I'd ever had...

When words were all we had we used them morning, noon, and night. Words were the reason I slept so well at night. They were the reason I woke with a smile. When Words were all we had...

...I couldn't get enough of them...or You...

Now we have more than words. Way more than words. We have touches and laughter. We have eyes that see into one another. We have times spent near, holding one another, feeling, smelling, seeing. We have nights of the same passion, the same life and light our Words used to bring. When words were all we had, we had less than we do now. But those words...are why I fell...so...

Emily...

He...Me...Patience

An advance apology to my faithful readers, but this one is going to wax a tad philosophical. I do promise to throw in a little hotness for good measure though, if you will only be patient.

this is my philosophical look..hehe

And let's start there....Patience. Admittedly it is not my strong suit. Though I have come a very long way in a very short time. Or so it seems to me. My patience is limited to children and puppies, gardens, baking and elderly relatives and friends. I have absolutely none for myself. My temper, my wants, my needs. I want everything to be satisfied NOW! And..as much as I truly hate to admit it, sometimes a lot is not enough. This one I am working on.

though sometimes i think i'd rather stick to puppies...

For those of you who know me well, you know that I came onto the scene very publicly during a really hard time in my life. My father was ill and I was spending inordinate amounts of time by his hospital bed with nothing to do. Therefore I wrote. And wrote.And waited. And wrote. I was able to escape my physical surroundings by building a fantasy life of epic proportions through every story I told. My dad got better after a long while. Then 2 years later I was there again. And again..I wrote. It is my saving grace and for it I have more patience than anything else.

Well...I'm there again. Not in the hospital thank goodness, but back to a sick father. And this time there's not going to be a "better". So again, I will write. Again I will be patient. And again I will look to the comments of my readers for support, laughter and peace. And I thank you in advance.

Most of all I thank my Sir. His patience is never ending. When I am not myself, He is patient. When I am whiny and sullen, He is patient. When I can't find my way, He is patient.

and loving...giving...caring..kind..

But more importantly, and I thank you for YOUR patience....He is patient in the bedroom. Slow..methodical undressing. Painstakingly sensuous teasing with every lengthy, pressing stroke of the nerve wheel. Unngh....
Minutes tick by that seem like hours as my hands are preciously and tightly bound to the bedposts.

 The flesh along my spine rising slow centimeter by slow centimeter as He does the same to my ankles. And then I wait as He decides...patiently, just what is to come next. A scarf over my eyes that cannot fall...?

Or if I am on my belly...the long drawn out touch of his belt along every inch of skin from my neck to my toes...? His arm drawn back..slowly..slowly...before bringing that leather across my backside...the sound reaching my ears before the delicious sting...? And then another slow rise of His arm to follow...while I tense..waiting...waiting for the slight whoosh of leather through air....

And after all of that patience comes a long slow drawn out fuck that slicks me with sweat and lust. And I am patient...over and over again...

Nothing like a good shag to teach a good many things.

Emily

If You're Going to Do It...Do It Right

I'm going to try to write this in a classy way, but no promises, alright?

I have met, spoke to, messaged with so many women who think that performing oral sex on a man is disgusting. Yes, I said disgusting. Now, men, before you get all uptight, give me a minute. I have also heard the same from many men who have had the experience of having fellatio performed by a woman who finds it distasteful. They don't like the taste is the general consensus. My own personal proclivities shout out a very loud...WHAT?! to this answer, but in an effort to be non-judgmental, to not look at the situation from my own personal adoration of the act, I shall try to be somewhat helpful here and see it from their point of view.

My first bit of advice? Don't give up!
Don't let the taste of your man's cum drive you away from letting it slide, hot and silky, down the back of your throat. It truly does provide the nutrient of protein, and come on ladies, our Men really love a girl who will swallow. Do you honestly want to be one who doesn't?

Focus instead on another sense...SCENT!

Here is what I have been delighted to notice. From the moment my face first nears my Sir's deliciously perfect cock until the moment that scrumptious essence of His love coats my tongue, His scent changes about 13 times. Yes...13. I've counted. So please do not doubt me.

The first lovely aroma to drift to me is very subtle Him. His own personal scent, a soft mixture of soap and Sir that to me could not be more perfect. The initial change in scent occurs as soon as my lips wrap the head of His cock. Oops. Forgot to be elegant there for a moment. Ahem. I meant to say as soon as my warm lips gently wrap the tip of His firm member as it begins to harden and rise to the delectations of my tongue. Better?

That scent is sharp, tangy, almost acrid, filling my nostrils with a sort of heat, a warming. That first change in scent makes me eager, makes me want. I want His cock harder. I want it to fill my mouth completely.

As my lips slide farther down said hardening member I am met with another new scent. This one comprises the tang of the latter with the Sir-ness of the former. In other words, my nose nears His body and I smell Him, the Him of Him, mixed with the tang of Him. Mmmm...that is one of my favorites, but not THE favorite.

For, as the fellatio accelerates, that scent changes again. Warm musk. As he hardens...musk with overtones of floral. Yes, I said floral. As His cock fills my mouth...peat, like the forest on a damp day. As my lips work in conjunction with my tongue, muscle stimulating muscle...floral mixed with peat and a lovely hint of raw lust. If you have never had the scent of raw lust tickling your nostrils, I suggest you find a cock to wrap your lips around as soon as possible.

My mouth continues to work and I am rewarded again with the scent of Sir, but this time that scent encompasses every cent before it. Ungh...And that is all I have to say about that.

Nearing the crescendo, the point when I know that very soon I am to have the most delectable dribble cascade down my lovely throat, is when the most rapid and perfect scent changes occur. And this may sound weird but stick with me here for a moment.

Muscles twitching...citrus.
Hands fisting in my hair...caramel.
Moans erupting from His lips...vanilla.

(Alright. There is nothing vanilla whatsoever about this Man, it's just what I smell.)

Thrusts as He fucks my face coming faster...vanilla with a hint of whatever He ate for lunch that day..usually spicy, like hot peppers.

Another moan, louder, as His knees give way just a tad and my hands gently caress His balls...spice and ginger, my scent mixing with His.

And finally, as His cum is released on a sigh of pure pleasure into my mouth, tongue contracting with greedy want...pure, unadulterated,blissful, sexy, hot, and wanty cum...the musk of Him overriding every other scent that has come before it, and the heat of that scent making me quiver to my very toes.

Why?

Because...

I made it happen. Don't you want to say the same?

Emily

The Little Things We Keep...

There are some little things we keep to ourselves. Secrets about ourselves we don't want anyone to know, or certain feelings we may have about something that it is pointless to share. A gift given but held close, or a new love that gives -est to our lives and is shared only in a published smile.

...behind closed doors....

We all know that those secrets we keep about ourselves are eventually discovered. But it's only because the person who figures it all out was the one who was meant to do so, and in digging deeper they find your true self, even if they don't like everything about it. You are seen, bean.

...but it feels pretty good...

The feelings we don't want to share are often exhibited in our behaviors. We stomp and pout and let it all out, and again it is that one person who recognizes what it's all about. And maybe, if you're lucky, He will let you do the Hokey Pokey.

...um...yeah...

For months and months I shared my -est in a published smile. That smile's meaning was only known by one other, and I hear it made Him smile a bit too. But keeping it a secret, between only two just seemed the thing to do.

..and i wore it all day...everyday...still do...

Gifts mean different things to different people. Some appreciate them and hold them close like precious gems. Others share those gifts with any and all who will care to hear, look or touch. Some only share their gifts with a few select someones, and some share gifts they've no right to.  To me, the pleasure these people derive from a gift is in the sharing of it, the oohing and aahhing, the WOW factor, the validation from others that their gift has merit and value. It's exciting to share a gift that's been given, whether it is a new friendship, and old one, a burgeoning emotional attachment, an article of clothing or jewelry, hell, even a new puppy. But of course you would share that because they are so damn cute.

...see?...

Gifts are not always tangible things. In fact to me the most precious gifts cannot be held forever, and are really only yours to borrow, to keep for a little while. These are the little things we keep. The things we cannot know will be around forever. The things we may screw up and lose or drive away. The things we may destroy by our very efforts to keep them. And once they are gone, well....they are no longer so little.

...my...

People forget that their actions have the ability to wound, to hurt, to bruise scratch and bite. Alright, so I like biting, but the rest? Not always so much. I am a gift. So are you. So is everyone a gift to that same someone who sees them, and all they try to hide. But here's what I've figured out about being a gift. You can only give yourself to one. That someone who sees what he holds.

...and wants to hold...

Because it is only that someone who will recognize their gift for the truth that it is. They won't give it back. They won't share it with someone else. And they will give you the gift of doing the same. It's just a little thing. But I think I'll keep it.

Emily

What's to Come?

Besides me that is, and most likely several times. I usually lose count, but Sir does a pretty accurate job. He quests for it I think. Hehe.

My time with my Sir has gradually increased over the last year. Initially we met for a couple of weekends a month, doing our best to enjoy every single moment of that precious time together. I see Him much more frequently now which is wonderful. But I find we've had to exchange some of that preciousness when time was limited for what is actually the delicious comfort of being together more often. This is in no way a bad thing.

I adore delicious comfort. The laze of a Sunday spent in and out of naps, eating yummy leftovers, time spent always within His reach, and with His scent continually filling me.

Running mundane errands here and there, but which mean I get to be a help to Him.

                                                      and time in the car can be very fun...

Days where we eat three meals together are a chance to feel His care for me in the exquisite taste of the food he prepares.

And the nights. Well, the nights are anything but routine. Let's put it this way. I sleep far better with Him than I do without and that is not always due merely to His presence, though it is a big factor. Quite simply put, the Man wears me out!

Life's little necessities that keep things running smoothly are what I consider to be those little comforts. We are at ease with one another now. Know one another now in a way we never did when we were learning each other. And that learning has not stopped, nor do I think it will.

Do I wish we were still hiding ourselves away in B&B's for fulfilling sexy weekends? Yes, and no. We will again. That is to come. And I very much like our weekends now. Friday evenings full of laughter. Saturdays with full plates of activities, and quiet Sundays to rest and snuggle.

and we can always get our own paint cans...

Do I wish we were still going out to fancy meals in a city lit by window stars that never burn out? Yes, and no. I love the city. Love learning it with Him. Love seeing it through His eyes and hearing stories of what He did, where He did it and with whom He did it. But again. More of that is to come. Besides, only one of those meals out could ever compare to my Sir's cooking. Yes, Sir. I mean the crepes.

You know what? Even laundry is enjoyable when I do it with Sir. (Alright I admit it. I love to do laundry, but you get my drift.)

Sounds boring right? Where's the bowled over romance, Emily? Where is the delicious thrill of a D/s relationship? How could routine, real life, non-fantasy weeks and weekends spent with your Sir possibly fulfill you? Don't you want to know what's to come?

Let me tell you, dear readers.

The bowled over romance is in His eyes. The way they softly alight on my face and the smile that tickles them when he looks at me. The shine that is there when I catch a knowing glance or share a joke. It's in his constant concern for my well being. It's in the way He cherishes me, holds me and teaches me.

The thrill of D/s is always present. Just one look, a touch, a word that tells me I am HIS, or that I need to behave, get my red under control, so to speak. When he tells me what He wants me to wear, down to the tiniest detail on an evening He may or may not even see me, but will know I am doing as He has asked. It's in his words when He reminds me how strong I am and how far I have come; when He tells me He is proud. And please do not make the mistake of thinking that delicious comfort will ever mean we give up our play!

I am fulfilled by every monotonous action necessary to propel our daily lives, whether it is a trip to the grocery, a wall painted, or a sandwich eaten. Because in all of that...He is. Smiling, laughing, reminding, remedying, teaching, helping, touching, mentoring...loving.

Do I know what's to come? I have to admit, I don't. I love to borrow trouble and worry, though I am working to overcome it and learn that it's not what's to come that matters. What matters is, what's for now? And every day of "Now!" with my Sir is enjoyed to its pinnacle. So for me, what's to come is what's to come, and I will just hope it's more of what's now.

Emily

Perfectly Perfect...and Very Hot...Especially When it's Not...

Shall I tell you what perfection is? I am sure you are all expecting me to wax poetic at any moment, right? I mean, after all, we've not heard from you in ages, Emily. Why should we expect anything different?

Well...you shouldn't.

Perfection. Ideals. Our perception of them changes as we change. That same perception grows as we grow. Or perhaps it is merely our expectations that do so.

Perfection to me used to mean something entirely different than it does now. I used to see it as this glowing, golden icon, untouched, in which there could be no flaws.

Alright, I freely admit it. I am in love. And it is not at all perfect as I always thought being madly in love would be. But I have learned that lust and love can go hand in hand, and that in fact there are two hands. I've also learned that every imperfection only makes me love more. And that love is fucking hard. It makes you worry and lose sleep, but it also makes you dream.

Dreams for me have usually been quite vivid. You know from my stories that even my daydreams are bright and imaginative, vivid in their clarity and yes, sometimes a tad silly. Hmmm. Sounds a bit like love. These days, many of my daydreams are coming true.

My Perfect Sir came into my life. That was a dream fulfilled. I call Him perfect. Is He? Not really. He snores. But I think that is perfect and it brings a smile to my lips every time I hear it.

Is it perfect every time we are together? No. We have disagreements, or not enough time alone. We are interrupted by life. Is that perfect? No. But the fact that we are learning one another, that we get to make up, and that we get to share time together with so many people we care about. Well, that is  perfect.

Now the sex. That's another story altogether. The sex is always perfect.

My Sir may not appreciate me sharing this little tale with you, but I have quite decided that it is far too funny to keep to myself.

Cold winter, last winter in fact, and my Sir and I were enjoying a cozy weekend alone. Ahhh....lovely.

We very much enjoy cooking together and anticipating that we had thrown together the ingredients for a nice warming, spicy chili.

My Sir is patient. Incredibly so. And that is pretty perfect. He is also an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Um. Also perfect. Every onion, every tomato, every pepper, chopped to well...you guessed it. Perfection. Minced and diced into gorgeous, colorful cubes of red, white, green, yellow, and orange.

By the way. The care He shows His culinary preparation is also the care He shows me. Though He does prefer not to dice me. Hehe.

We spent a happy hour or so preparing the chili, then left the kitchen, our aromatic dish simmering on the stove.

Retreating to the bedroom, I discovered that He had left a few gems there for me. A solitary chair in the center of the room, his belt very carefully hanging over the back of it, precisely even on both sides.
Um. Perfect.

My clothes were patiently, pain-stakingly removed in His meticulous way, each item folded and placed with pointed precision on the cedar chest. Every brush of His body near mine sent a spasm of want surging through me. His breath at my ear as He lowered my blouse bringing a tremor. Mmm. Perfect.

As my skirt pooled at my feet, His hands dragged upward, each finger pressing into flesh. Sensations flooded me completely and my trembling was accompanied by a long low moan escaping my lips.

(You all know I don't wear panties, so that was pretty much the extent of my clothing removal.)

Standing there naked before Him, with a whispered warning to "Be still," Sir's fingers began to travel my skin, gently stroking one exposed inch at a time. My cheeks, my neck, my collarbone. Blissfully perfect.

My shoulders, each fingertip alighting on a freckle, tracing a path, His own little dot to dot. Exquisitely perfect.

My back, up my spine, each vertebra tenderly teased, down to the hollow above my ass. Yummy perfection.

Heat began to flood me at His slow, methodical touch. Each moment that His fingers connected in heightened sensory enlightenment seemed an eternity of pleasure. Perfectly perfect.

His fingers began to blaze a trail across my abdomen, His arms wrapping me from behind as He neared the center of all the driving heat He had been building.

My body warmed as He continued, His hands nearing my pussy lips, now swollen with want and need of Him.

As His fingers entered, the heat overwhelmed me, a flush crawling over my entire body. Heat continued to grow as He explored his pet. And it grew, and it grew, right where His fingers were moving until it was so hot, I was burning and not in a so sexy way! NOT PERFECT! NOT PERFECT!

I started to wriggle, unusual for me when told to be still. then I began to squirm. Finally I squealed, crossed my legs and started jumping up and down a bit.

Yes, you guessed it. My own Sir Chef still had pepper oil on His fingers from His meticulous dicing earlier and that oil was now making me dance around like my ass was on fire. Which in fact it was. So NOT perfect.

Between gulping laughs and squeals, (His laughs,. my squeals.) He managed to get me into a shower where the matter was soon remedied. Ahhhhhhhhhh. Perfect.

Ahem.

We were of course able to continue our fun later with the chair, but...I'll keep that little gem to myself for now. But you should know that it was indeed...yes, my dear readers. It was perfect.

Alright, here's the poetic bit you've all been waiting for.
Perfection is never a golden gleaming icon unflawed and untouched.
Perfection is in every little nick and scratch. Every flaw. Every moment that isn't so perfect, still is.

Emily

What is the Word...?

I always knew that when I found the perfect Sir for me it would ultimately lead to submissive happiness. There are definitely words to describe most things, but even an accomplished writer would find it difficult to find words for many more.

Such as the way I feel His eyes on me when I smile. What words can there be to describe the wash of warmth that fills me? Or when He takes my hand to lead me to bed...and every fiber of my being rises to the surface of my tingling skin anticipating what is to come. There can only be one word for that...bliss. Those subtle moments, when His body barely brushes mine, yet even that slight touch tells me more than His voice ever can. What word is there that wholly comprises the enormity swelling my mind, my heart, at knowing I am His? What word can ever express that perfect knowledge?

In His lap...it's like home...

 So much has happened over the last 19 months. My life has changed, grown in ways I never expected. To put it bluntly...I found myself. And I am pleased as punch to have done so. Would I have been able to find me on my own? Most likely. But the incredible line of travel that led me to my perfect, handsome Sir, and all of the ways in which He has helped me to become a better, stronger, and more amazing me, was an unexpected gift. A gift of passion, boundless and bound. A gift of honesty, being true to myself and my wants. A gift of treasuring all the appreciative moments life has to offer, either with Him or without. A gift, simply put, of seeing myself for the first time through someone else's eyes. A someone who sees...me.

even up close...

I want so much to share our nights of passion, our games, our toys and tales, our rules, our day to day interactions that thrill electrically through my every waking moment and most of my dreams. I want to...but I can't. I have found another gift you see. The gift of privacy, and exclusion. The gift that makes every moment with Him a still life picture to be framed and enhanced, not through my writing, but through my memory. And there is something very precious about it all that must be kept between He and I.

and the waves of course...

But as my readers have been wondering where I disappeared to, I feel I do owe you something of an explanation. I have disappeared into a life beyond my stories. A life that deserves my full attention. A life that pleases, teases, tingles and thrills, chills, and awes me with the wonder of how very happy I am. Happy with me, happy with Him, happy with life and all its magic. And that's the word to encompass it all. Magic...

the stones say it all...

Emily

p.s. That doesn't mean I won't have stories to tell...they just won't be mine...