Gray light infused with smoke wakes me from my dreams, dreams so real my body is on fire. I lay there and sink back into them for moments, so vivid and real that in moments I’m speaking gibberish as I toss and turn, aching throbbing and desperate for reality.
The covers are tossed and turned like waves and as I force myself out of bed I notice with a laugh that they are pushed to the end of the bed and the down cover has fallen to the floor. Shaking my head with the power of it all and making myself wake further and get out of that bed where I can’t seem to separate dreams, reality, fantasy. He is driving me nuts and the feelings of longing make me want to cry with the sweet pain of wanting to fuck so badly I’m going cross eyed and speaking in tongues.
Away from the soft butter sheets for an hour or two. Staring hard at the bed as I write, shaking my head as it keeps pulling me back to it, drawn back in to the warm tangled depths, as surely as honey eventually starts its slow climb down the walls of a jar trying to defy gravity. The man is tearing me apart at the seams, or I need him too anyway.
How can it not be magical? I have had good and great sex but never magical.
How can it not be magical? I have had good and great sex but never magical.
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