Dear heart: a message to a loved one

At times we write in code, expressing ourselves with discretion, for an audience of one.  You, my dear reader, are a welcome interloper, for you bear witness, and the act of witnessing is reinforcing.  The beauty lies in witnessing inside the veil of secrecy.  Drift with me for a while and feel my love and respect.

I have seen her before.  I know her energy.  She is a light being.  ‘Tis true that we all carry the weight of the world on our shoulders, even if in equal measure, some bear it lightly, others seem to be utterly encumbered, even crushed.  She is not like that.  Her laughter comes easily.  It is light like delicate fingers playing across my skin.

The first time we kissed I could feel her aura.  I could see it.  It was a blue light which emanated from her.  Like gas flames from the stove.  Clean, clear, constant, and light blue.  Her kiss was filled with openness and exploration, at once curious, at once shy.  It was gentle.

Apart from what she sees, she knows two things about me.  Submission is how I speak love.  Innocence is how I seek to attach.  She understands both but is herself submissive.  This produces an unexpected and welcome harmony.  I know very little of her, but as we speak to one another, we can feel gentleness flow between us, and a world of common passion come to the surface.  Kind words beget warmth and positive energy.

She, like me, is a witch.  Her lineage is witch.  This manifests in silent understanding.

I long to see her again.  She is present in my thoughts, with me at times.  I can feel her presence.  Can conjure it at will.  This is the joy of innocence, for I do not seek to take from her, only to connect, to reassure, to support, to be silent.

We are both fitness bunnies.  She can outrun me both over short distances and long.  I like that.  A passion for daily exercise and how it makes us each feel is one of many languages of the body whose fluency we share.

I ask to see her.  The scenario is a road race in an idyllic setting.  Beach, rolling hills, beautiful ginger bread clapboard wood houses, tradition.  This place has meaning to me.  It inhabits the thread of my entire life, where every corner is known from familiarity.  To be in a place one knows so well is to be at home.  To be at home is to be in power.  To be in power is to be able to give.

“Please, don’t wait for me,” I say at the start.  We are to line up with our times, and she, bless her, wants to run with me.  I’d like her to fly free, to flex her spirit, her muscles, to flow.  “Just give me a banana when I’m done.  Meet you in the tent.”  She laughs, monkey me can do that.  But she settles into the crowd that will shoot off at the starting bell.

I run faster than ever, somehow pulled by her presence in front of me.  Her energy is leaving a wake, a slipstream which makes it easier for me to fly free behind her.  I set a record for myself which feels so good.  She sets a record for herself and is filled with the joyful feeling of post-run high.

Afterwards, we settle down into a soporific meal on the back deck of a friend’s café.  She and her husband are there, and together we enjoy a picnic of roast chicken, puy lentils in salad, quiche, Billecart-Salmon rose champagne, French cheese and baguette, and a fine apple tart.  Best is the company, this heady mix of glamour (them) and sweat (us).  There are few things as satisfying.  The sky settles into a blaze of orange and purple as the boats dance on gently undulating waters of the harbour, the Hopper-esque houses glowing in the light of the witching hour.

I’ve rented a house for 10 days, starting yesterday.  I picked her up from the ferry and brought her home.  It already feels like home.  It is a glass house in the forest, and there is something compelling about living in a glass house that makes you want to be nude.  I say nude, not naked, because of how it feels.  The protective envelope of the trees has a calming energy.

We’re both tired and satisfied, and after a long soak under the shower, completely fresh.

We circle each other gently, under the lamp light cast into the dark by a sole bulb from a reading lamp.  One of her legs is tucked underneath her, speaking of flexibility and a gesture life.  I am drawn to my knees and close my eyes before her.  She looks at me.

“May I?” I ask, extending a hand, an arm, towards the long, exposed leg that is just before me.  She smiles and nods, and I reach forward.

I do not touch her.  My hand is very close.  Close enough to feel her.  I caress her without touch, and she remains perfectly still.  And then she closes her eyes and leans back and settles into her body.  She extends her other leg and I am not touching either, but feeling her energy, caressing her without touch.

Her skin is soft, golden.  I lean into it and kiss gently, brushing my lips on the side of one knee of the other.  I need not adjust myself, for I can reach all of her from where I am, comforted by the welcome I feel between her legs.  I brush my cheek on her inner thigh and feel her sigh.  Relaxed, open, receiving.  I too am receiving.  Listening to her body.  To her breathe.  I can see her even better with my eyes closed, can feel the flow of energy around her.

She knows of my desire to please her.  She knows of my need to feel her pleasure.  That my own pleasure will blossom through hers.

And she guides me, my lips between her legs, to her lips, to a deep and lingering kiss.  More than a taste.  A long, savoury, and divine tasting which leaves her shuddering.  She knows what she wants, she tells me what she wants, she makes me understand.  I speak this language and linger with it, in it, wallowing in her joy and sensation.

After, I can see in her eyes that there is something that wasn’t there before.  There is a warmth in her regard, something sweet and honeyed.  Complex.

And this equates to ease and comfort.  It makes us both look forward to seeing each other again.

We linger awhile in this place, a world outside that seems an abstraction after the world inside has shown so much beauty between two people.  The universe exists in a kiss.

And so we part until next time.  But there is lingering bliss.  There is a bliss which exists when two people come together without guile and simply give each other the best of themselves.  That’s all.