Adultery for me...

is like having a drink, taking some drugs or engaging in a risky adrenaline-pumping sport. It's recreational. It's fun. The flirting is fun. The newness of it all is exhilarating. The sexual attraction is a great reminder that the girl I used to be is still the same as the woman I am now. Like most exciting recreational activities, there's an immediate *boost* that uplifts your spirits and just makes you feel good. Yes, that may very well be the adrenaline talking, but it exists in sports, in exercise, in anything that deals with the physical form. And, as with any of the aforementioned activities, extra-marital sex can toe the line of obsession and addiction. If pushed to the limit, all of that boosted energy can become a whirlwind of chaos, sap your spirit of any reserves you might have had and toss you into a pit of exhaustion. Widely known as The Crash, (aka the hangover) so too does adultery have its minor (and major) pitfalls.

The most dangerous pitfall of all is the emotional bond. In a comment on my previous post, Thomas Paine mentioned the danger of getting caught. I mulled on this for a while, and have decided that getting caught by my husband is not the immediate danger where I find my thrill. Simply because I seriously don't want or need him to ever find out, and I don't really think he wants to know either. I know that he has his suspicions, and it comes out in his speech. At the same time, we've talked about our limits briefly, and I know that he simply doesn't want to know. I think so long as my behavior changes only on normal, regular terms, that is -- our daily relationship maintains its stability -- and our emotional state of affairs is in good standing, he really has no need to question my commitment to our marriage. I also feel the same way, which is why the danger that provokes a prolonged adrenaline rush is that which comes with the possibility of falling in love with someone other than my H.

Which brings me to BeautyEyes. He has been the only man I have ever come close to having these sorts of feelings for. I think because of our history together, there was an immediate bond aside from the sexual attraction. That intimacy that we experienced exists in a realm of its own -- the friendship intimacy that's laced with sexual attraction that seems to cross lines, however arbitrary they may be, and in doing so creates this fuzzy space that's amorphic, mutable and at times, downright scary.

After having processed this odd connection I have with BeautyEyes, and having slept with another co-worker, I couldn't help but feel somewhat... dirty. And it's not a dirty feeling like "oh my, I've slept with too many men, so I'm a slut" kind of dirty, but it's more of a muddled feeling as though I didn't know who I was anymore. The kind of dirty that sticks to your skin and doesn't wash off in the shower. That feeling when you first wake up with morning stickiness clinging in the air, oppressive humidity that consumes all the space, pushing out any room for circulation of a fresh breath. That kind of dirty.

So my solution lately has been to avoid the situation entirely. That means avoiding all people aside from my H. It's been working temporarily, but I know that it's not a permanent solution. I'm just not callous enough to fuck and run. I know I have to talk to the last guy I slept with and process what happened between us. Why did I say it would surely happen again? Why didn't I just leave? This man, my friend, an ex-coworker, was a person I spent a lot of time with. We were close. We had a real relationship at work. That night that we hung out, I said to him in jest "it's not like I'm going to sleep with you or anything" (perhaps my fatal mistake). And after we had sex later on that evening, he opened up to me even more than before. That scared me. He reminded me of me. I didn't want him to get too close. Now I realize he was my rebound from BeautyEyes. I just wanted to fuck. I wanted to be reassured that I could participate in this recreational activity, and just have fun, with seriously NSA (no strings attached). And when he hit me with that whammy of emotion, caused in the wake of really great sex with someone you've known and been in close proximity for almost a year who you've barely even touched -- well, it was too much for me. And so my Anonyma self crawled back into her hole in order that my everyday person could scrub down her dirty little emotional welfare to at least a resuscitated state.

And here is where I am today. Freshly showered. I have a few new perspectives, and maybe they'll sneak out here soon enough. All in all, I feel good.

Food for thought: when you have a sex dream with someone totally unexpected, it often has nothing to do with sexual attraction, though sometimes it might. Usually however, it reveals a newly formed intimacy with that particular person. Twice now I've had this sort of sex dream with my immediate supervisor (two different men). In both instances I knew exactly what my subconscious was getting at. The first time, my dream was relatively innocent. We only kissed, but there was an energy there that struck me enough to remember it during my waking hours. And sure enough, my boss and I had developed a friendly rapport just about the same time. This time, today I had a dream about my new boss -- The Brit. The problem is, I do find him rather sexy, and I was attracted to him from day one. Now I have a sex dream about him and it's clear that we're getting closer at work. To boot, it was a damned good sex dream where he basically forced his face onto the crotch of my jeans, surprising me with the most incredible through-the-pants face fuck I've ever experienced in a dream. The thing that's quite okay with this unrequited sexual attraction is that I know for a fact that he's nowhere near dangerous for me. He's devoted to his wife and kids, lives out of state and has zero opportunity to get me into any kinds of trouble. Plus, I respect him, on multiple fronts which means I would never endanger that situation for him. I think I've got a check on this one.

my personal fireworks

I fell asleep thinking about him last night. Drifting thoughts strolling through my heavy mind -- his fingers long and soft, gentle nose stroking my cheek, his unusually sensitive body and its expression of joy in my arms. He was breathing short, tense, pulses of air and moaning quietly as I kissed his stomach. Slender stomach, taut with anticipation, rippling with every chill that my tongue introduced. I loved how he smelled. Sweet, musky, ripe, dark, curly hairs -- as black as my own. I fell asleep to these memories, swaying me gently in the cool breezes of my afterthought.

And when I awoke, there he was again, fresh in my mind. I felt him there, laying in bed with me, my breasts swollen and aching to be touched. How his mouth, in its entirety, moved along my body, clever tongue, curious lips, fitting my flesh like three-dimensional puzzle pieces cut from the same core. Now is when I touch myself -- a morning reminder of what transpired between us. Now is when I re-embody the memory and celebrate once more the incredible beauty that I witnessed and was a participant in creating. I resume the thought that rocked me into slumber. His cock is erect and hard, so engorged that I can lick just the veins. My tongue probes all around his flesh, and I can make out the topography of his abdominal base. He's tasty. Seeing his pleasure drawn all over his face is tasty. I take him into my mouth and he lets out a gasp, and the look on his face tells me he is experiencing a feeling in a category of its own.

Mind wanders to his fingers and how he fucked me with his incredibly agile digits. First he teased me, taking me all along the edges of my desire. He worked me up to want him so purely, swelling in pleasure. He decided when to enter me, when to brush, when to stroke, when to push, when to pull. I was a puppet in his hands, and he -- a master artist. When he fucked me like this, I felt all of his giving. As if in his hands he offered a single gift, and that gift was ecstasy.

Non-chronological image takes me backward in time, irrational leaps and jumps that take me to the places where I found pleasure. I had my lips wrapped around his cock. My ass was in the air. I was dreaming of getting fucked while sucking on his lovely member. I wanted him to see my ass waving around in the air, yearning to be fucked, back arched, lips puffy and tight. Suddenly my fantasy was interrupted as he sat up quickly, and mounted me in a maneuver that can only be described in wrestling terms. God I wanted him so badly. How deeply I ached to feel his cock inside me, that ache is impregnated into the very cells of my flesh. Still, the chills eek across my spine when I think of how his body went from supine to erect in a matter of seconds, and cock in my cunt. Just. Like. That.

And just like that, I was about to cum. Climbing, writhing sensation burning through my fingers, past my pussy lips and tightening, tightening. My god, I'm so close. That's when it hit me -- the way he held me when he took me from behind like that. Around my entire waist, his arm wrapped me in an embrace that felt like a surreal visit into a gel-filled reality. His entire body held me tight as he pumped himself into me. Long, slow, deep strokes, and me tightening, tightening. His entire arm was wrapped around my waist, elbow hugging my ribcage, pulling me into him, making me meet him there, right there in the middle where the earth comes crashing down, where the immense gravity of a black hole takes everything inside. Consumes everything around it. Right there in the middle is where he took me. And right there, I was fucked, I fucked, and there, I came loud and sweet. What a morning!

BeautyEyes, if only you knew... these were the fireworks I was telling you about. If only you knew...

another letter I will never send

BeautyEyes,

What would I say to you if I could speak freely, without worry, without fear? I would tell you that the past three weeks have been rather difficult for me. I would say that not hearing from you has brought up so many insecurities. That I've been cushioning myself for the hardest fall and the hardest rejection I've ever experienced. I've been trying to callous myself from the hurt and the ache of how your absence affects me. I would tell you that with you, I feel like I am falling in love all over again. I would say that it is a confusing and difficult thing for me because of all my other flings, I've never had to worry about these sorts of things.

And I would tell you that I've had other affairs. You would never ask me, I know. Because you don't want to ruin a lofty image of me and of what we have shared. But without worry or fear, I would want you to know everything about me. I want you to know about polyamory, and about my other secrets. About how my ring finger is longer than my index, and I'm not surprised. About my love of people and individuals, and the creative nature of relationships. I would love to tell you about my husband, and I wish I could share these things without the fear that you would become closed off because of vulnerability and insecurity. The truth is, we are all insecure in some form or fashion, and that fragility grows thick with every passing unanswered question. The questions that eat away at the core of our humanity-strength.

I wish that I could relate to people without feeling sexual attraction, sometimes. I wish that I could be that smart girl who is engaging in every way but sexually. I could be social. But instead, I am this person who feeds off of intimacy that is necessarily laced with sexual innuendo. I wish I could Feel freely without the anxiety that tags along about guilt. So apparently, yes, I do feel guilt. And I hate that I feel guilt. This one aspect of who I am is so liberating, and yet, so enslaving.

I love my husband, and I would never volunteer to abandon what we have together. Perhaps the argument could be made that in my actions with you, I have already abandoned something between he and myself. But that something... to me, is only a platonic form, an ideal that could never be actualized. In his heart, he holds me up as something of a giant, and in his reality-speaking eyes, he knows that I am not that giant. And yet his large and open space allows him to still supply this action. It is this action that makes us who we are, that gives meaning to our love, and that I treasure entirely.

And still, I would reinforce to you that I believe it's wholly possible to be deeply entrenched in and maintain indefinitely an intimate encounter, all the while engaging in the same forces with another.

I don't think falling in love is a selfish act. I don't think monogamy is a farce. I believe in the power and strength that comes from it, and I am devoted to my intertwined existence with my husband. The beauty that arises from this situation is tremendous. Can you accept that? Can you trust me in that? Can you trust yourself to jump, not knowing what the next step may bring? Can you seek beauty and love in every person you encounter, despite the fear and insecurities?

You meditate. That introspection... something connects that is grounded, earthen, woody. Our very bodies speak that same language. That is why we fit in each others' arms so well, so completely, so thoroughly. As though the pathway that connects the both of us to that earthly energy made a complete circuit, traveling through each one of us and returning to the source, the fit, the coupling, the embrace allowed the pathway to flow. Not everyone can feel that. You should celebrate that and revisit this moment when insecurities grow strong. These are real battles that are ever important in our daily lives.

The distance that I felt, while comforting my heart, became one of these battles for me. I let my fear take hold. My fear of what you think of me. My fear of never seeing you or hearing from you ever again. My fear of losing you forever. And yet I know I could never lose you because you have become a part of who I am. Your touch, your vision, your movement through life has influenced me ever since the day we reconnected. So even if you did decide to never speak to me, I will always have the parts of you that you did freely give, once upon a time, and they have become me.

Imagine in another universe somewhere, sexual intimacy between people is a method of life exchanges. The very act, instead of creating a child, results in an embodied exchange of memory. So that once we have been inside one another, we then share the same memories. Our DNA adjusts and we quite literally and physically become a part of the others' flesh. This universe that I speak of is the one that exists in my spirit, in this daily life on earth. I think all intimacy is much expressed in this fashion. Life-histories bleed together, and the person I am today, the person I will be tomorrow is entirely affected by the various individuals I brush up against. I breathe the same air, and share the same breath. Another man's intake is the same as my out-take. My inhalation has been inside another, and so on. Love, hate, anger, frustration -- they are all communicable. And so are walls. The walls I've constructed get passed on to others. and the ones brought down by others I too see crumbling around me.

BeautyEyes, these are only some of the things I would share with you if I could speak freely. If I could give freely, without fear, without worry, without self-doubt. But this doubt is in fact human. And these secrets will die with me. Perhaps when my mind should go frail, these memories will shift and recreate themselves in another form. More likely, I will edit all of this along the way. Whatever the case, I am delighted to know that you do still think of me. And that is something that I just may feel free to tell you.

tears have fallen, and then wiped clean

No matter how much I try to put BeautyEyes out of my mind, I can't stop thinking about him. I'm torn because I would so like to enjoy just savoring his existence, but I also know that there are unbearable limits to what has flowered between us. Limits that my lofty fantasizing has finally hit and now I feel a burning, choking oppression somewhere between my chest and my throat. It is simply, pain. There is a pain of not-knowing. There is a pain of disconnect. There is a pain of loneliness.

Where I work, the people around me are mostly conservative, homophobic, xenophobic, reborn religious zealots who openly judge others in rhetorical, demeaning ways. I continually listen to their crap and am silenced because of my own hesitations to speak out. My coworker today took note that I am too "middle-of-the-fence". Yes, with strangers this is true. It takes a long time for someone to gain my trust, so I don't offer personal opinions readily. Which is what makes it that much harder to stumble upon such an intimate connection, only to have it slip away for the given set of circumstances.

H has mentioned in the past that he really feels it would be ridiculous to expect that he and I have a connection that is unsurpassable -- that: it would be unrealistic to hold on to the notion that I can only have that type of intimacy with him, and no other; and it would be mistaken to believe he could be angry with me for establishing other meaningful connections outside of our coupledom. I know that he understands this concept on an analytical and philosophical level, but at the same time I don't feel it gives me carte blanche to be free and seek out those intimacies with other people. And that is because I do know how very very painful that situation can be. I know that you can not think yourself out of a raw, emotionally torn position. I know that once wounds have been created, they never fully heal and you're then involved in a life-long commitment to tending them. Perhaps that's what marriage is truly about... a lifelong commitment with someone other who is as fully involved with the wounds -- wounds that are no longer your own, but rather something amorphous that is shared and becomes a child, reared by both parents.

So, by not allowing these wounds to even occur, does that mean I am patronizingly protecting us? Am I doing it for the child's own good -- for the good of our stability? Is this a moral place to be?

I hear the same blanket ads coming from these conservative, xenophobic, reborn religious zealots: "A strong family unit is what's best for society. The problem with society these days is the breakdown of the family." What the fuck is that? Of course the assumption is that "family" = husband, wife, children. But within these roles, I feel like I'm lying, and thus my spirit is dying. Within that framework, I feel caged and as though my genuine, vibrant smile is a big fat plastic fake. Yet with H, all of that melts away and we just exist -- we just have a place in the world where things do make sense, and sometimes we move in and out of various roles, but they don't have to stick, unless we want them to. That is precisely why I feel so disconnected right now. By not giving in and opening all this up, I feel like I am pressing down such a fleshy part of who I am, and thus am excising parts of me from the unit that is us. That is the most painful of all. It's not the not-knowing where BeautyEyes is on the issue of what we've done. It's not the distance between our two big cities. It's not the loneliness of being away from him. It's the peeling myself from the mass that was me and H. It's the distance that I've put between us. It's the carving of my own space that is pulling me apart at the same time. Like the siamese twin who dies after surgery, despite owning her own set of healthy organs and limbs, there is a shared spirit that once severed hurts so bad it can not exist alone.

I hate this feeling of wanting to "come out". Sometimes I feel like I would very much like to attend a queer support group. Though I'm comfortable with my sexuality and orientation, I actually am in a particularly marginalized social structure within the grand scheme of things. I just don't know how comfortable I'd be in attending a group meeting...

Scrubs

-- the tv show that I've begun watching. The main character, JD, (played by Zach Braff) keeps reminding me of BeautyEyes. I'm totally addicted to the show these days, and I'm now quite enamored with this guy, if only because he so reminds me of BeautyEyes. It's not necessarily that they look alike, (though in a way, they really do -- just imagine brown skin and grey eyes, though just as striking) but there's some hint of personality similarity, maybe it's the nerdiness? which I absolutely adore, by the way. This might very well be the first time that I've actually had a celebrity crush... the first time I've ever had any genuine curiosity about getting to know an actor, on a personal level. I'm finding it rather strange, really. I've felt that way about authors, but I think the nature of acting and celebritizing forces automatic walls between us and them, versus a pulling force of mental attraction that comes along with writers.

Anyway, I should probably stop watching the show because it's just pulling me down deeper into my depraved cyclone of obsession. I'm really trying to stop thinking about BeautyEyes because I know our situation is absolutely impossible, and I most likely will never get another weekend with him ever. After I sent him a drunken email, I realized how close to the edge I am with this guy, and the teetering is doing no good whatsoever.

On another front completely: I started a new job today and I'm surrounded for the first time by men who are happily involved with their wives/fiancees. No divorced sense of alienation, no sex-hungry single boys, just men who are (at least outwardly) satisfied with their women. THAT is strange in my profession. How ironic then, that one of these men I find absolutely stunning. Once again, the eyes! This guy brings back memories for me of my girlhood fantasies of who I would want to marry. Dark brown hair, chiseled features, BRIGHT blue eyes, and he's a brit to boot! Witty, and sarcastic as hell with a bite on the end of every statement. Dare I say, hot? I don't work with him directly, so I can't really stare at him for long periods of time given we don't hold very long conversations. But when I can steal the time when he's not looking, I'm amazed at how fucking handsome he is. Nothing like a workplace crush to make the hours go by pleasantly...

Epiphany

Wow, I just watched this video from YouTube and I had an incredible realization.



What was so different with BeautyEyes? Why that sense of comfort? Why that feeling of familiarity? At the time, I couldn't put my finger on it, but now I understand. Touching him and being with him felt like being with another woman. Our kisses, our touches, everything about us had the quality of sapphic desire. Normally, I abhor the categorizations of male/female, masculine/feminine, etc. The dichotomization of gender seems quite limiting and pushes up walls and boundaries where they shouldn't exist. And yet still, there is something inside me that finds real comfort in making this distinction: lesbian sex is different from straight sex. Aside from the obvious technical differences, there is something else about lez-love that seems to cast a certain hue on the act that is generally rare in man/woman sex.

I've had sex with a lot of men. I've kissed plenty more. In almost every instance, the underlying quality of it all has a sense of probing. And it's not just the physical quality of a penis probing the vagina either -- it's the feeling of the other as something foreign that begs understanding. It's the searching for common ground, and through that search it's discovering uncharted territories that bring excitement and heart-pounding breath. I've had sensuous sex, acrobatic sex, emotional sex, spiritual sex, communion-type sex, fun sex, rote sex, drunken sex, rolling sex, beginner's sex, artful sex. It's run the gamut as to the varying character of sex I've had, and still that probing is there. As though, even when I lay naked, I am still clothed. As though layers still exist, in want of shedding.

Perhaps it has nothing to do with gender or lesbian sex, categorically. Maybe it is simply a matter of translucency and comfort, and where I find that quality happens amidst women, and occasionally that special man, or two. (As it seems, I married one.) I suppose the affairs I've had with these other "manly men" has indeed filled a niche left somewhat vacant by monogamous sex with the man I intend to spend the rest of my life with. I hate to think of marriage as an act of emasculation, but on some levels, that's exactly what happens, to the both of us. Becoming partners naturally kicks away power-play, as that is required emotionally to get along day to day. "Straight (hetero) sex" allows me to succumb under someone else's thumb, and fulfill a somewhat subservient role that I do miss from time to time with my H.

So the question remains, why did my experience with BeautyEyes not fall into the "straight (hetero) sex" category? Could it be our shared history -- a built-in precursor to an emotional connection? Could it be that I am allowing another person aside from my H into a place strictly reserved for a true loving relationship for the first time? Whatever the case, it's different, it's terrifying, and it's sure to bring change into my life. At the very least, it's brought up strong sentiments about living poly again that I've long buried and want to keep submerged. I want it to remain hidden from sight and I don't want to deal with the consequences. I don't want to share this with my husband because I don't want our relationship to change. I don't want to make him unhappy, and I don't want us to be quarrelsome. In some ways, you could say I don't want us to grow. There's far too much youthful spirit in our relationship right now to ruin with an accelerated growth spurt. My discomfort in hiding these truths is more than tolerable, in comparison to what might arise if we change things now. Maybe some day I'll get too antsy to keep holding it in, or maybe he'll sense that I'm just too "off", or perhaps even he'll change of his own accord and develop the desires to stray as I currently do. Who knows, though the latter is rather doubtful. Until then, I'm not going to sacrifice our current state of affairs for a brief sanctuary in loose-lipped honesty. No good could come of that. Besides, I have this here -- my group of anonymous friends -- should I find the need for full disclosure. And thank the heavens for that. Without this community, I might have done something really stupid already.

lips

One of the very noticeable aspects of my looks is what my H lovingly refers to as D.S.L. -- D.ick S.ucking L.ips. Of my entire family, I was endowed with these pouty, puffy puckers and of all my facial features, these DSL are my most prominent. From my very first boyfriend, I can remember wetting my lips in hungry anticipation for what may come. I remember years of pre-sexual attractions where the slightest hint of my tongue tasting the inner edge of my lips resulted in enigmatic reactions from the boys around me. My lips are a gift from the passion gods, as they get licked, sucked, and bitten -- both hard and gentle. And with each nuance of movement, I am sent to all edges of the pleasured universe.

So when I get the chance to play with lips like mine, and I can lick those fleshy appendages and suck them into my mouth, and feel the thick tissues rolling around between my teeth, against my lips, across my tongue, it's a kiss that's so fucking incredible, I could cum just through the pulse of that sucking. Needless to say, BeautyEyes has those sexy lips that I just love remembering in various tableaus across my body. Not only was our kissing out of this world, but his soft and full lips planted amazing sensations all over my body. My exposed neck fell victim to his suckling, and as I discovered the next morning, he had left the mark of his naughty, poorly-behaved lips against my tender flesh. A hickey! It was an accident that I'm sure I knew was happening at the time, but it just felt too wonderful to make him stop.

My favorite montage is of his full lips wrapped around my breast. The contrast of my creamy skin against his darkness combined with that feeling of such completeness is something I enjoy revisiting on almost a daily basis. The vibrations I felt from his guttural whimpering, that resonated from the back of his throat, always became padded down through the thickness his mouth created and echoed ever deeply into the core of my nerves. I loved seeing his face rubbing against my chest, brow knitted in absolute delight, nipple trapped inside the vacuum of his lips. And never did he suck too hard. He always knew my threshold of the pleasure-pain tolerance and backed off at just the right moments, only to ensnare me again in just a few moments. Something about those lips...

something new

when BeautyEyes let his fingers roam, they explored so much of my body, and in that exploration, I too discovered new delights. I was apprehensive about letting his fingers penetrate because I was wearing an Instead menstrual cup. yes, you can have sex with this thing inside you, and really, there's no difference. however, because his fingers would be probing so deeply, I didn't want him to feel something strange inside of me. thus, the excruciatingly long bouts of clittoral foreplay. his fingers danced a choreography I've never felt, and it wasn't too extreme of a sensation either. normally, I'm extremely sensitive on my clit, but his gentle ways did wonders on my body. two fingers would glide smoothly, one on each side, flanking my tight little clit, moving my skin side to side, back and forth, up and down. his rhythms were perfect, never off beat from what my body was crying for. he was so attuned to my pleasure that it was as if we were one breath. he watched my face for tell-tale signs and listened to my inhalations. he never wavered, and our motions were syncronous with one another. occasionally, he would dip one finger, then maybe two, just barely glancing the inside rim of my very tight pussy. and then back outside, back to the manipulation of my clittoral pleasure. this continued on for well over an hour. of course there was more going on other than his fingers rubbing me, but for this post, I'm focusing on masturbation.

eventually, he wore me down, broke me away from my apprehensions and I let him slip the whole length of his two fingers inside me. as he eased deeper inside, I could hear him whimper, could feel his breath changing pace. could he really be enjoying this as much as me? the way he flitted his fingers against each other and against the walls of my cunt was something else entirely. I could feel my eyes roll to the back of my head, in complete surrender to what BeautyEyes was making me feel. he started pushing harder, deeper, more rhythmically, and I could feel these scratching sensations where he must have been pushing against my G-spot. (mind you, I've never felt this so-called g-spot, until this weekend.) my body responded by pushing back against his palm and now his thumb was playing around with my lips and my clit. I couldn't take it anymore and started really fucking his fingers, my hips grinding down, my body grasping his, tightening down against him. and that's when I felt it -- the heat, the pressure, the building of muscle tension in my hands, my arms, my abdomen, my thighs clenched taking everything inside me. One final scratch on that small hard mound behind my pubic bone, and that was it. I couldn't believe I was cumming all over his hand. Screams tearing out of me, moans released into the air, he brought me to climax for the first time, with only the dexterity of his fingers. incredible.

now that I am home, looking at porn, I'm experimenting with different touches. trying desperately to imitate BeautyEyes, I've learned another part of my sexuality. I've learned quiet discipline -- the kind that creates a build-up so extreme, the kind that takes patience and time. light circles of barely touching fingertip to clit, leave the grinding for another time. it's a sweet kind of pleasure, unlike the gritty, hard palm-fucking to which I'm accustomed. I have BeautyEyes to thank for this. sometimes all it takes is to slow down and recognize subtlety.

---the sex---

Each morning that I awoke next to this man in his bed, I immediately felt flushed with desire. The cool morning breeze against the thin cotton sheets would gently caress me into full wakedness, and I could feel a tingling sensation throughout my body. What's incredible to me is that the type of desire was pure pleasure. I did not aspire to reach orgasm, ever. I merely wanted touch. The repeated rise and fall of sensory experience was what I yearned for; just the pleasure of his skin against mine, his lips anywhere on me, and even the simple pleasure of looking into his eyes as we shared space silently. Without getting too carried away, but in the spirit of honest expression, I want to say that during these intense moments of intimacy, I felt a love between us that came into a fullness unable to be articulated.

Two evenings, back to back, of sucking on lips and necks and chests and fingertips, interspersed with feeding and drinking and walking and holding hands and hugging. Oh, but the kissing and licking and touching -- his touch was marvelous! his hands alone brought me so much pleasure, the type of pleasure that stays with you, that I find impossible really. rocking my body against the grasp of his palm, scratching away at my insides, driving me, moving me, making me feel like I could seriously cum at any moment, whenever he wanted, again and again. I want to see him again, if only to feel him. he romanced me across multiple planes, and damn the sensuality of it all was overwhelming. his eyes. his beautiful eyes would watch me. he would give me pleasure, I would be floating somewhere outside of my consciousness and with the twitch of an eyelid, I could see he was watching me take that pleasure he was giving. his fingers were inside me and without blinking, his eyes set on my face, watching me in ecstasy.

on our sides, facing one another, his fingers driving me to a frenzy, for hours we were slow, kissing, licking at an unbearably light pace, the torture was delicious. he eased into me, gentle and kind. for hours we lay there, taking turns pleasing one another, tapping into a magnificent geyser of eroticism and passion. how long I could gaze into his eyes... we would go hungry. hunger for sensory excitement, hunger for touch, hunger for the soft padding of each other's lips, hunger for drink, hunger for food, desire in such a raw form as hunger.

BeautyEyes. we unraveled one another, and I don't really want to be put back together any time soon. this is indulgence, and relishing every moment after. he emailed me too -- exactly the bit of response I needed to know that everything is great between us.

Aftermath

First I'd like to thank all the new visitors to this blog -- I'm pleasantly surprised and graciously welcoming of your reflections, your readership, your thoughts, your input. This place has been a refuge for me, somewhere I go when I need clarity, or a simple outlet for my harried emotions. I don't profess to be capable of giving advice or teaching in any way, but my writings do tend to be rather meaningful for me, and when these thoughts can touch someone else in a similar fashion, then I'm grateful for that momentary shared experience.

Yesterday was quite difficult for me because I woke up to an empty home, my head, body and spirit filled with a chaotic mix of feelings that ranged from exhaustion to delight. I craved a single, quiet response from BeautyEyes that never actually appeared. I wanted to know that he was okay with everything, or at least that he was going through something, anything, and that I in fact wasn't alone in my state of absolute confusion. The absence of recognition was painful, but eventually I did manage to get through the entire day.

And like clockwork, my H, in his hypersensitive extrasensory perception, tells me a story. It is about a colleague, who is currently suffering in his marriage because of how affairs have insinuated themselves between the two, and about the repurcussions of it all. The magnitude of those consequences is astounding, really. The couple has been living with this heavy issue for over ten years, with little to no resolution. And my H, in the telling of his tale, is so calm and understanding. He explains everything with a pragmatism that I feel is meant to give comfort to me. The thought crossed my mind once more that perhaps he does know about this website, and perhaps he has known all along. This thought does not give me the creeps anymore; in fact, if it is the case, what can I do about it? I did not broadcast it, I have tried the best I can to keep this part of me to myself, and so if he has stumbled upon it, and still is able to be the man I know him to be, then what is there to do?

In our phone conversation last night, he reminded me of the "pact" that we made -- that if I were to have a simple sexual encounter, to not mention it to him. There would be no need of it, for all it would bring to our lives would be misery, jealousy and unnecessary pain. However, if I found myself falling in love with another person, (which often happens in extramarital affairs) then that is an issue that needs a dialogue.

How could it be?? The timing for this kind of conversation is on the mark, in so many ways. Here I am feeling as though I have crossed a line with BeautyEyes because our interactions were so fully incorporated -- he is a good person and on a friendship level, he is someone that I trust and admire; on an intimate friend level, he is someone I feel connected with on so very many planes; on a sexual level, I feel as though our compatibility is tremendous. And so I am shaken; perhaps I should not have pursued this line through the thicket, for now I am caught by own flesh. And just as I am working through these feelings, here comes my H, bringing up these very issues from his perspective.

As painful as it was to have that kind of conversation over the phone, knowing what I know, it brought me such comfort and trust in my love for my H. He knows who I am, and he knows my passion. He may or may not know the details of what pursuits I've had, but whatever the case, he is an incredibly compassionate man whose love I cherish fully and eternally. Our conversation helped ground me and remind me of the strength I have in my core. I am entirely thankful for that, and today is a new day. I still have the desire to hear from BeautyEyes -- just a signal that things are okay between us. I still also plan on sending him the letter I'm currently writing and the package I'm compiling for his home and work space. So in a way, I'm still traveling this path, but I'm rooted again in what I know to be a good place for me. And that is truly a miracle.

Beautiful Spirits

There are some people that you meet and spend time with who set off a gong inside your soul, and it's as if your world is suddenly turned upside-down, inside-out, and twisted this way and that. They take inspiration from you and you from them. They emanate warmth and light and you feel privileged just to know them, just to bask in their sunshine. In my life, there have been a handful of people like this, and I am joyous to announce that I have discovered another of these Beautiful Spirits in BeautyEyes.

I have just returned from my weekend in his city and it was the most remarkable two and a half days I have spent straight with someone other than my H. Spending all that time together -- all evening friday, sleeping in the same bed together that evening, all day saturday, sleeping in bed together that evening, and most of sunday, traveling on a train together. That much intimate time with someone and you get to see shades and hues of a personality that generally lay under the radar in everyday proper behavior. And having spent that much time together, I feel closer to him than I could ever have imagined. BeautyEyes is every much the beautiful spirit I believed him to be instinctually, and surprisingly more than what I had expected. He shared so much of himself with me, and I could see, could feel that he opened his heart wide open to me, let me in, and we danced together in each others open spaces.

Our interactions moved seamlessly through time, through space, and through various types of relational roles. Friend, confidante, lover... we were so free with one another and in that freedom, discovered a boundless beauty in the fluidity of our friendship. I felt a kinship between us that flowered overnight.

Our bodies mingled together as though they knew each other once before, in a distant lifetime, and our flesh played out a symphony, harmonizing in celebration of rediscovery. I couldn't help but feel as though there was no other place to be other than with him at every moment we spent together. I'm remembering that feeling I had sensed initially -- that the connection that BeautyEyes and I share demands a sense of romance and true friendship, that to continue along this path invokes a flag of danger in the possibility of creating something beyond a simple sexual affair. I'm remembering how I came to the understanding that any advance in our interactions would develop into something quite remarkable, and in fact, something rather threatening. And when I see in his eyes the very same comprehension, I know that we have already introduced that element, and have no other choice but to simply move on from here.

I felt a deep sadness upon our departure today. We connected in such a profound way that the abruptness of our goodbyes stood as a chasm in space and time that seemed artificial. Perhaps in another universe, I stayed there, moved there, and we lived a life, creating bounty together. And it's as though our time spent together these few days acted as a wormhole by which these universes crossed, commingling two lifetimes that just can not exist simultaneously. I don't know what will happen from here. I do know that these past few months of sporadic conversation with BeautyEyes has been like standing at an open door that for so long was closed in a dark alley, largely unnoticed. And standing there these past few months, looking through that open door, I could only use my instincts, and my limited senses to determine what lay ahead. Now, after this experience, it's as though I have stepped over the threshold and still can not see beyond my limited senses. It is bright, white light that blinds me. It is the light of his Beautiful Spirit.

an appreciative wife

so. it has been a very long time since I've done any kind of anonyma-living. a very long time. i've somehow managed to not return any of Mr. Smooth's phone calls, not contacted my Buddy, not email BeautyEyes, not bug M with innocent text messaging, and not be sexually attracted to anyone at work. sex with my H has continued to be a blessing, and i've actually gotten to a point where I'm rather comfortable and truly enjoy receiving oral from him. sex is still not as frequent as i prefer (nor he for that matter), but we still rock each other like mad in bed. our marital life on other fronts is ridiculously perfect, and I couldn't imagine a better person to spend the rest of my life with.

I realize it must be confusing, or troubling even, how I can feel such profound joy and happiness in our marriage, and yet be totally accepting in my non-moral stance about committing adultery. i can easily see how it could show lack of integrity, as though i am lying to myself. and yet, through all of this reflection, and after distancing myself from these actions, i still feel the same -- wholly and integrally in tune with what is true to my heart.

recently, i had a few moments of jealousy crop up when i entertained the idea that perhaps my H's long hours at work this year were his cover for having an affair. then the denial hit -- "no, no, of course he's not having an affair; I know exactly what's keeping him at work each and every day. and he's too distracted, he could never keep something like that from me. besides he's a wuss, he'd totally fall in love if he were involved with someone else, and then it would be obvious." but i kept playing anyway -- "okay, so what if he is having an affair, and i'm totally falling for his act?" then i starting thinking about which of the women i knew who he might want. what's funny is i wouldn't mind if it was one of our friends... unless she happened to be more of a friend to him than to me. isn't that strange? jealousy. fear of the unknown. i let my mind play that game for a little while, and then all of the sudden, i said to myself, fuck it. if it's happening, it's happening. i sure as hell don't want to know about it. we're still happy, no matter what outside information I know or don't know. we enjoy each other's company so very much in our recreational time, that in all honesty, what he does at work, on his time, i could care less, so long as it doesn't come back to bite me (as in stds or open flaunting that would directly lead to causing me pain, in the manner of jealousy). and so i realize, i could easily participate in an open relationship, with the basic ground rules of common courtesy of course. i mean shit, we're already swingers, it's not much of stretch to push it all the way open, is it?

and here comes my black guilt of a conscience creeping up, "aha. you knew this all along. this is what you wanted from the beginning, and you were too much of coward to say it up front. and now you're trying to inject this lifestyle into a person who does not choose it freely. this is no good. i can not entice a man into the simple and acceptable life of monogamy and flip it around on him once he's been ensnared. that just isn't fair." so i go on, thankful for the beautiful life i'm living, for the romance my wonderful husband is giving, and for all the privilege this life has to offer.

all along, knowing that i could easily live on my own, promiscuous and free. I could, if I had to. And I would enjoy it, thoroughly. and yet, a married life with my H is what I prefer. It is what I choose. Everyday I choose him over the myriad other choices and opportunities that await. without the "options", I would not have the opportunity to make such a profound, existential choice.

no real appropriate title...

sometimes I really wish I could share here, some intimate letters that I have written and/or received from friends. letters that were created under moments of true inspiration, real connections and amazing insight. but there is a place for that intimacy and divine creativity, and that place is not here. but here I will reflect on the world of letter-writing, and romanticism.

I never much was a girly-girl, or a hopeless romantic for that matter. in fact, I've always been the practical, down-to-earth, easy-going chic whose smooth moves glide through time effortlessly. I am of small stature, with seemingly delicate features, but when you hold me, you know otherwise -- that in fact, I'm rather athletic, strong and resilient. perhaps I've often even tried to play down the feminine features, prefering to come off more as a tough girl, of the smiling-independent type, but every now and then I like to imagine myself as a "pretty lady".

Beauty Eyes gently brushed my hair off my cheek and said to me, "you shouldn't hide your femininity, you're beautiful."

And so it surprises me when I catch myself off gaurd, dreaming or fantasizing about a long-distanced love affair, be it through space or through time. Like 18th c. romantic love stories, I switch to this non-reality of having a an affair by way of letters -- the ones that get shoeboxed until I'm dead and then my children discover this lost world of the most amazing love letters. But those times are no more. Who writes letters these days? When it's all on email. And life happens so immediately, no time for reflection, no time for digestion, no time for nostalgia, no time for patience. It's all right now. and it's all I need it now.

Can intimate, meaningful friendships exist without a shared sexuality? And can they exist beside the ONE MAIN relationship that is sanctioned and blessed by your community -- that of marriage, your spouse? I don't know any clean answer for that.

I know that I like the intimacy that sex brings. I like sex as recreation. I like loving my friends, as brothers and as sisters. I also like flirting. But the quality that really brings to life connections between two individuals is something deeper and beyond any one thing I've just mentioned. And it's touching that essence that is shared across the limited lives of people as individuals. It's glimpsing that eternal beauty that we all possess. And for lack of a better word, it's something divine. That's what I strive for, and that's what I mourn when the connection is lost. Perhaps there are a myriad of ways to establish that type of relationship with another, but for now I've found sexual intimacy a pretty straightforward way into it. For some, it is too much. And I understand that. For some, divinity can be touched through sheer obligation, respect or other social stratification of emotion. Perhaps as I grow older, the sex will fall to the side, and the fraternal love will rise. Or not. Who knows? All I know is right now it's hard as hell to ignore attraction. I still have not heard a convincing reason to do so.

I wish I could be like my husband. I wish I could find complete fulfilment through devotion. He loves me so thoroughly, needs me and wants me and is utterly devoted to me and to us. And I suppose that should be enough for me. But as much as I know that he is my perfect match in harmony and in life, my heart's flesh still wanders from time to time. I am aware of its throbbing, and when these moments arise and I must contain it, a thick sadness overwhelms me. These times do pass. And new irresistible joys lurk around the corner. Most of the time, those joys are shared with my H. And the times they aren't... that's for the dark recesses of my memory.

life goes on

events in life occur and we can fight them, embrace them, or plainly accept them for what they are. events like kisses, like fondles, like hugs, like new friendships and rediscovered old ones. events like losing friends over foolish issues, like losing and finding various loves. events like surprise family-planning and unexpected needs of those near and dear. these things happen and we're constantly sifting through desirable actions and undesirable reactions. we weigh through turbulence and find some balance that we can live with, a temporary harmony that works. at least for now.

most of the time, it doesn't make sense. life just happens, and sometimes we can read rationale into it, but looking at the whole fabric of time and relation, it truly doesn't make sense.

There are times I forget that this blog is but a portion of the whole me. my perception at times is that this adulterous life is the complete me. that all else of the non-Anonyma life falls to the side and the "real" beaming bright life of my self is only Anonyma. these are the times I obsess, check the email, read the blog, write the comments, read the blogs, check the email. these are the times my perspective goes askew and I forget that adultery is generally perceived as wrong and hurtful by the majority of the american population.

but then, life goes on. daily I go to work. daily I eat. daily I engage this physical me who is only Anonyma for such a small percentage of my existence. I currently feel the need to give anonyma.persona a rest, and give homage to a complete rendering of who I am, as faithfully and as sincerely as I can. of course this must remain anonymous, so I will still refrain from details that may give away my identity.

in very short time, my life will be transformed. the change will be momentous, and I will have very little time to frolic the anonyma way. my writing will probably decrease even more than it has already. I will probably be entering a new stage of relationship with H. one that I sense is maturing into something even more special than it already has been. (no, I am not pregnant, no we are not planning on having any kids. period.)

I am saying goodnight and goodbye this evening, to Beauty Eyes -- in my own manner to suit my emotion and well-being. I shall let our reunion slip away gracefully and enter a starry sleep under the frigid winter skies. as short-lived as it was, the fire we shared will burn consistent and bright in who I am today and who I will be tomorrow. and to let it all go actually brings relief. the air I breathe now feels light. Beauty Eyes has shifted to memory. a very fond memory indeed, but the motions have begun nonetheless.

where this blog is headed... more sex... more toys... more sensuality... some more pics (HNT again?)... more links... updated blog format... paying respect to other sex-bloggers... public BETA version... perhaps...

A Long Pause

I've been getting attached to our letters, yearning for another glimpse into who he is, but I think I'm beginning to accept that Beauty Eyes is pulling away from this. I never expected that he would last as long as he has, given his stated apprehension at the onset of our rekindled friendship. Each day I look forward to the possibility of receiving an email from him, and each day my hopes are eaten away bit by bit. I realize now, in his long absence, how very fond I have been of this reconnection that we established. It saddens me and frightens me at the same time.

It seems I think of him on a daily basis; that is, at least once in the day my mind meanders to thoughts of him or I am reminded of him by some random connection in my brain. When thoughts of his profession enter my head, I think of him. When hearing or reading about his city, I think of him. When thinking about my fun evenings out, I think of him. The image of his eyes, his lips, his face as a whole... that image is burnished into the tissues of my third eye. I have a recurring vision of my breast just barely grazing against his soft, luscious mouth -- the contrast of my hard, erect nipple brushing against his supple lip always evokes shivers rippling across my skin.

To feel so full of passion and yet stark raving hungry for it is unlike any other emotion I have ever felt. And I am devotedly addicted to it.

I should let Beauty Eyes slip away. He wants me to let him slip away. I know it in my core. And yet my spirit does not want to allow it. I want to feel the cling of his arms wrapped around my waist once more. I want to hear him whisper those sounds of pure ecstasy again. I want to smell his scent and feel him tug at my hair, putting my face at the perfect angle to receive his kiss.

I truly miss him.

relief

he sent me reassurance. a wonderful text message that calmed my fears and soothed my apprehensions. the words he chose to send me worked wonders at leaving the door open between us. the reality of the situation does still resonate with me, but at least there is still hope that someday... something just may happen between us once more.

and yet, still he is so far away, in another city, a 4-hour train ride away from me. how could I possibly sneak away from my H to meet with Beauty Eyes in his big, big city? no, I think that will never happen. this will surely have to be a home-town love affair. perhaps the next time he is home to visit, I will travel the hour to meet him in places familiar to us, places that carry us away from our everyday lives. so long as I can feel his gaze upon my lips one more time... I shall be pleased.

his first response

he wrote me back. i emailed him one day after we rekindled that almost-forgotten spark we had for one another. and he wrote me back. my perceptiveness to his emotions was on point. he followed through with exactly what I had hoped for: a response with kindness, receptiveness and a healthy dose of reality. he says he's struggling to come to terms with what happened. feels his actions lacked the respect that both I and my H deserve. his own moral qualms. can I console that? do I have the capacity to calm that tension inside of him? i'm not quite sure.

i keep thinking about how intimate we were. beyond sex-as-recreation. we both opened up and shared something profound together. i've only felt that way twice out of all the lovers i've ever had. one man being my first true love, the one I lost my virginity to. the other man being my H, who i am currently married to. this presents a thorny challenge in my clean architecture of pursuing a lust and love-filled life.

my commitment to H has always been on the level of transcendent love and beauty. of all my transgressions, I've never felt any danger that i was trespassing on this territory. that is, until now.

there's something about every first kiss that I've found: it either dictates or reflects the relationship I have with that person. for every truly memorable first kiss I've had, I can see a real correlation between how much *click* and *pop* the kiss gave, and the resultant personal interactions.

the connection that Beauty Eyes and I shared in our first kiss was simply magical. now what?

Obsession and this man

how do i fight the urges to keep checking my email? how do I ignore the pulsations that are reminders of what happened just yesterday early morning? how do i keep from imagining what he's doing now? How do I keep from going over the scenes, the clips of time memory that make up this flesh? how do i keep from re-reading what I've written about him? i can't. it's that simple.

even the sounds of this music move me, fill me with body- sensations that revolve around him. how can i stop those reverberations? i can't. it's impossible.

he said he thinks he's always trusted me.

do i question my instinct? could i be wrong about what he sees in me? could i be wrong about what i see in him? i've known him, but i don't really know him. he's always been somewhat of a mystery to me. over ten years, i've known him. but i don't know what drives him, what makes him tick. though i know these are terrible things to want in an extra-marital affair, i want them from him. and yet i know i can't pursue a "R"elationship with him. with all the others, sex was just sex. there was no way i could fall in love with any of them. but with him... there is a distinct possibility... a part of me hopes that he puts this past him, ignores me, or in an adult-type way can express his joy and yet still communicate that it just can't work. that he can't do it. because i fear that i wouldn't have the strength to say no. i fear that i am standing at the edge of an abyss, and at any moment i could slip away and the world as i know it flies out of my grasp. this is what he does to me.

should i dash his hopes? that i would never leave my H.

and yet still, i yearn for an iota of a response to my letter. i fear i shall be disappointed.

Coming Home Celebration

I was surrounded by a few familiar faces, and some new ones I didn't quite recognize. Shuffling around, a bit unsure of how the evening would go, I walked away from the bar with my favorite comfort brew, ready to dive into socializing and what conversation comes with it. I was just about to sit down, and then I saw him -- those absolutely beautiful eyes, full and sensuous lips and curly black hair in all his glory. We locked eyes and immediately I was reminded of years ago, when I would pine as a young lady for even a glimmer of attention from this boy. Now, the boy has grown into a gorgeous man with a rock-hard dick and enough guts to approach me, hold me, kiss me. Me, a now-married woman.

Throughout the evening, we mingled, in the proper fashion. That is, rotations were made through the crowds of people who had gathered together from numerous geographic locales, back home for the holidays. Catching up on news of family, spouses, children... chit chat. It was great. Wonderful conversation was had. Delicious food and drink made everyone merry.

Toward the end of the night before closing time, the group of gentlemen who were entertaining me (friends from highschool, mind you) decided they were ready to leave -- to hit the local stripclub. Naturally, I vocalized my own desire to go with them, on the condition that Beauty Eyes accompany us. He agreed, and so we went. In the back seat, I squeezed into the middle seat between him and another friend, and off we went. The club itself was just I had imagined strip clubs should be. Red velvet rockers, a center stage with poles going all the way up to the 2nd story ceiling, tables surrounding the raised dance floor. Oh and of course, naked chicks shaking their tits.

There I was, at a strip club, attended by five men. I saw all sorts of pussy. Surreal was part of the feeling, drunk was another. These men, three of whom were old friends, two others -- complete strangers. And I was having the time of my life. They paid for me to enjoy a lap-dance. Amazing fun. An innocent lap-dance, but fun nonetheless. And she groped my tits. Yeah, that was nice.

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"So, you're married?" Snippets in chronology come to me in scattered sounds, images, the smell of his skin and hair, the taste of his lips, the pressure of his tongue. At one point, we were sitting next to each other and I can not recall a single thing we talked about -- just one glorious extended moment in time, swimming in his beautiful eyes. His face balanced inches away from mine; our breath dancing those intimate steps of suspension-between-inhalations.

I'm not sure how it began exactly... the playfulness of our fingertips were aware of their games long before either of us became cognizant of what was happening. "Do you feel guilty?" How can I find room for such an emotion when my body is overflowing with desire and passion? The passion is real and every cell that comprises my being is thrilled to be awakened.

I could see that he was seeing demons as he leaned his head against the backrest of my car. What is wrong, what is right, I challenge my own sense of morality and bring it to the fore in others. Our bodies fit snug against one another. He says he seems to always somehow get himself into impossible situations.

Earlier during dinner, there was a brief pause when all dinner conversation seemed to ebb out of my consciousness, receding to the background and what came into focus was him -- his face, his lips, his eyes. He didn't look away, nor was he one bit agitated. We stared like that for a good bit of time, and suddenly that smile of mine -- the one that creeps up from the center of my sexual being -- radiated, like a moonbeam, from me to him. His reception was unambiguous. I knew at that moment that something larger than a shared history of kinsmanship was dancing between us.

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waves overtaking me. I see your mouth adorning my body, electric shocks emanating throughout my limbs. lingering touch, your ghost kisses repeatedly taunting me as I quietly receive these physical manifestations of these precious memories. your slender fingers rasp against my skin, and that tight grip on my hair guides me to do your bidding. the force of your kiss, your tongue between my ever-awaiting lips, drives me into a passionate fury that rushes the hours past. our bodies moving synchronously and your hand moves near my mouth. a finger finds its way to my lips, and there is nothing I want more than to take you into my mouth. teasing with every lick, you watch as I slowly allow another tiny bit of skin slip past my lips, entering into that warm darkness. your flesh is sweet to me.

flash. your tongue is teasing my nipple. watching you give me pleasure sends me over the brink of fantasy and here you are. and here we are. undeniably, the forceful nature of our passions create an incredible field of sensuality that surrounds our bodies infinitely. yours are whispered words that flow gently past me, the sound of your voice incredibly humble and generous. your lips are magnificent. our kisses, a prolonged exploration of the topography of our bodies. I hear my voice warning an echo that bounces around in my head, "be careful with this one. you're making love right now, even without penetration. this is a dangerous place to be."

I can not stop. our hunger for each other is massive. our bodies move without conscious critique. we are in a place of beauty, and I can not stop. I must go. I do not want to stop, but I must go.

I have the feeling I have overwhelmed him. I fear he will force himself to forget any connection that we made. I fear that the treacherous waters of my adulterous reality present too much conflict for his harmonious, dedicated and honest life. But the beauty we create together is absolutely undeniable.