I had such a vivid dream last night. You shifted in your sleep, the bare skin of your thigh brushed against my back side. Your arm snaked around my stomach, pulling me tightly against you. My back against your chest, your groin against my backside. I felt your hand push my blonde tresses aside and your plump lips placed soft, wet kisses along my neck. Your hand moved from my stomach to my hip to the triangle between my legs, causing my breath to hitch in my throat. I reached behind me, running my fingers through your hair, tugging and pulling your mouth closer to mine.
Turning towards you, your hands tangled in my hair. Our mouths fused together, tongues dancing in tune. Rolling, you entered me in one swift, smooth movement. My sharp intake of breath and your groan sounded together. Bodies molded to one another, rising to a crescendo. I clung to you, wrapped myself around you, allowing you to take all of me. We came as one, reaching a peak and crying out loud in perfect harmony. We descended, collapsing together into a pile of contentment. You pulled me against you, arm snaked around my stomach, pulling me tightly against you. My back against your chest, your groin against my backside, and we fell asleep.
I woke and reached for you, only to find your side of the bed empty. My heart fell and I slumped into your pillow, inhaling the last vestiges of your cologne after these long months alone. I remembered you were gone and I sighed, tears slipping from my eyes. The dream was so vivid.
(Daily Post 3/3/17)
I sauntered into the party, my black dress clinging to my curvy body, the hemline hitting just below my knees with a slit that extended up the right side to just above mid-thigh. The halter top accented my ample bust and the four-inch stiletto heels gave me both visual stature and highlighted my already tight calf muscles. I searched the room for him, certain he was already here. He was the reason I was here, the only reason I came to this particular party. Taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, I pulled the rim of the crystal to my crimson lips and took a long sip, letting the bubbly sensation wash over me. Another swallow and I began to circle the room, prey moving in for her kill.
I spotted him, looking absolutely scrumptious in his Armani suit. His chestnut brown hair was cropped close on the sides, longer on the top. Loosely styled, it was primed for me to run my fingers through it while my lips were otherwise engaged. His blue eyes shimmered like a clear morning desert sky. Plump, pink lips were drawn into a bow shaped smile. My body shivered at the mere thought of the things I could do to him. Swirling the liquid in my glass, I downed my champagne, eyes focused on him. Finally, he saw me, and his eyes locked onto me. I could see the desire in his eyes from across the room. An instinctive smile rose on my lips and I ran my fingers across them, teasing him.
A playful grin flashed on his face as he excused himself from the group he was with, his eyes never leaving me. I flashed down another waiter, steeling myself with more champagne. Moving towards the center of the room, we met one another under the crystal chandelier. “You’re beautiful.” He got straight to the point. Two could play that game. “And you’re quite the rakishly handsome man yourself, Mr. Smith.” His eyes slipped from my face to my décolletage momentarily and I knew I had him. I smiled knowingly, slowly looking him up and down, admiring every inch of this gorgeous man. “Well Mrs. Smith, shall we go home then?” I took my husband’s hand and we made our way to the waiting limousine. Our monthly charade had played out and now we could enjoy our night.
(Daily Post 3/2/17)
Most of my things were packed in my bags, left beside the front door. This wasn’t a drill. I was ready to leave this time. The question was, would he let me go? I stood before him, held my ground, and told him I was leaving. I fought to hold back tears. I told myself I had to stay strong, to keep my dignity. I had to win this war if I wanted to win my independence. It had been a long fight and I had tried every strategy; I had begged, pleaded, negotiated, even manipulated. This was my last play. “So, I guess this is it.” I gave him one last chance to make things right. His vacant eyes left no doubt the battle was over. “Good luck,” he said, as he opened the door for me.