last night English pleased me like no other man on this earth could. i mean. spine warming bliss. from my head to my toes. he had me screaming in delight within minutes of hitting the bed.
this man is a marvel.
i didn't know it could be so good.
i've never. ever. endured such mind numbing pleasure. ever.
every woman should be so lucky.
i can't wait until he comes home tonight. i hope it's as good if not better tonight.
...
i mean it was only 50 quid, but sweet jeebus is an electric blanket a fantastic investment!
Sunday, June 12, 2011
breathe...
take a deep breath.
inhale.
exhale.
tomorrow is just a day.
don't read into it.
don't lump all your hope onto it.
don't expect.
just breathe.
inhale.
exhale.
tomorrow is just a day.
don't read into it.
don't lump all your hope onto it.
don't expect.
just breathe.
Friday, June 10, 2011
vino veritas...
in wine there is truth...
in alcohol there is a relaxation of inhibition...
in the sweet tropical fruit. words of wisdom come tumbling off the tongue. to spill the golden nectar upon the pinkness of flesh. the fuzzy peach flesh of youth. the tender skin of naivete. to trickle sumptuously among the round firm globe of ripe fruit.
the dance of fire lit tropics. the grainy sweetness of sand. the rich tang of the salt and musk. sweat and sea air.
an underlying heady scent of overripe fruit. of overheavy women. of the crush of culture and change.
excitement and despair. mix and mingle. a bittersweet happiness melds with an overzealous reality.
and all that is left. is the golden current in an empty glass.
the last legs running slowly.
until all is tasted.
all is taken in.
in alcohol there is a relaxation of inhibition...
in the sweet tropical fruit. words of wisdom come tumbling off the tongue. to spill the golden nectar upon the pinkness of flesh. the fuzzy peach flesh of youth. the tender skin of naivete. to trickle sumptuously among the round firm globe of ripe fruit.
the dance of fire lit tropics. the grainy sweetness of sand. the rich tang of the salt and musk. sweat and sea air.
an underlying heady scent of overripe fruit. of overheavy women. of the crush of culture and change.
excitement and despair. mix and mingle. a bittersweet happiness melds with an overzealous reality.
and all that is left. is the golden current in an empty glass.
the last legs running slowly.
until all is tasted.
all is taken in.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
another year bites the dust...
and another one's gone, another year bites the dust...
today i'm 27. wow.
i don't even know what to say right now. maybe it's the old age. maybe it's the fact that i just woke up. but i'm definitely at a loss for words.
i will say this though. English got me the best birthday gift evar.
two cuddly little rats.
they are super cute.
that's all.
you can all shudder at the fact that i have adorable rodents with lovely long wormy tails.
hehehe.
today i'm 27. wow.
i don't even know what to say right now. maybe it's the old age. maybe it's the fact that i just woke up. but i'm definitely at a loss for words.
i will say this though. English got me the best birthday gift evar.
two cuddly little rats.
they are super cute.
that's all.
you can all shudder at the fact that i have adorable rodents with lovely long wormy tails.
hehehe.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
this life of mine
watching from the sidelines. just off the pitch. avoiding the sweaty men who jostle for possession of a silly ball. laughing as the manager goes ballistic over small mistakes. i keep my eyes on the goal keeper. my husband.
it still boggles my mind to say it. husband. i catch myself starting to say boyfriend or fiance. i have to correct myself. i worry that people will think i am crazy or unfaithful because i can't manage to say husband. but it's just so new. my lips and tongue have to be trained around the word. i practice it at home. form the word. feel the word.
it is strange to hear the word escape my lips. i dropped off a doctors registration form. i almost broke out laughing when i handed the papers over and said... these are for my husband. i waited. irrationally. for the nurse to say congratulations. as if the world could see my affliction. as if it was written on my forehead. in big red letters. recently married.
but no. they simply said to call in a week.
so this is my life. watching him play football on sundays and mondays. though now the sunday season is over. mondays are the day for me to be a cheering supportive wife. standing outside the pitch. looking lovely and happy. avoiding sweaty men.
and their balls.
it still boggles my mind to say it. husband. i catch myself starting to say boyfriend or fiance. i have to correct myself. i worry that people will think i am crazy or unfaithful because i can't manage to say husband. but it's just so new. my lips and tongue have to be trained around the word. i practice it at home. form the word. feel the word.
it is strange to hear the word escape my lips. i dropped off a doctors registration form. i almost broke out laughing when i handed the papers over and said... these are for my husband. i waited. irrationally. for the nurse to say congratulations. as if the world could see my affliction. as if it was written on my forehead. in big red letters. recently married.
but no. they simply said to call in a week.
so this is my life. watching him play football on sundays and mondays. though now the sunday season is over. mondays are the day for me to be a cheering supportive wife. standing outside the pitch. looking lovely and happy. avoiding sweaty men.
and their balls.
Friday, June 3, 2011
time...
more time. give it time.
but time stands still for those who wait.
we wait in a space void of time.
no ticking. no tocking.
no telling the days from hours from seconds from lifetimes lost.
time is pain. time is patient. time mends. time heals. time destroys. time renders things apart. time gives minds space to forget. time is all i have.
this time. next time. no time.
every time.
i hear a train. and i gasp. in seconds it has lifted my tender hope and scurried down south with it. give it time. the train will return. and my hope will lift again. bruised and quiet. to wait.
to leave more time.
i listen as a car pulls in to the drive. my heart leaps. perhaps this time. but no.
give it time.
a door slams in the hall. my eyes flutter open from slumber. my arms ache. my body sighs. in response to phantom caresses. and the time it takes for long legs to carry from one end of the hall to another. my mind wakes. and i am alone.
maybe next time.
so i wait.
but time stands still for those who wait.
we wait in a space void of time.
no ticking. no tocking.
no telling the days from hours from seconds from lifetimes lost.
time is pain. time is patient. time mends. time heals. time destroys. time renders things apart. time gives minds space to forget. time is all i have.
this time. next time. no time.
every time.
i hear a train. and i gasp. in seconds it has lifted my tender hope and scurried down south with it. give it time. the train will return. and my hope will lift again. bruised and quiet. to wait.
to leave more time.
i listen as a car pulls in to the drive. my heart leaps. perhaps this time. but no.
give it time.
a door slams in the hall. my eyes flutter open from slumber. my arms ache. my body sighs. in response to phantom caresses. and the time it takes for long legs to carry from one end of the hall to another. my mind wakes. and i am alone.
maybe next time.
so i wait.
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