Immersion

RMPvillabedwhiteWrestle with my thoughts and break down my defenses if you can.

Force a subtle change in the bastions of my soul?  I dare you.

Make love to me on a portico overlooking the sea and with your thumb in my mouth, attempt to control the stream of lust laden requests for more.  It cannot be done.  Can it?

Fully immersed in my lover’s lullaby, my body responds to his promises and subtle direction.

Over time, we have created, together, our own little respite from reality,  a feat all but impossible without semantics woven into handwritten notes, gently penned on scented paper,  found tucked into pockets,  telling tales of the taking,  planned for much later,  and instructions about my role in my own undoing.

With a few short years of cultivation,  my heart and body easily travels toward your touch.  When I come across certain words, when I hear the click of the button lock of the doorknob,  or see a man’s hands shaped like yours, the anticipation hits me with a quick tightening.

My mind finds satisfaction in tethering your words to physical memories and in my heart, amusement,  when I am able to send memories of your touch to tactile presence, sometimes, in unexpected circumstance.

Yesterday,  the doctor’s hands brought you to me.   So very respectful,  but when standing in front of me, so close, and  then, when found holding each side of my head  and his fingers exploring my throat,   I could not temper my now instinctual response!

Without hesitation,  I whip into that malleable pose,  tip my chin to the side, and close my eyes and part my lips!

And he releases me,  just as quickly,  falls back into his chair,  and deliberately pushes his body to the farthest wall, as my mistake is amplified in his silence and my error announced through the speed at which my eyelids fly open and my breath is sharply pulled back into my chest with an audible gasp.

So, so memorable.

Our encounters are so easily pulled into my present.

And whenever I am near the sea,  when I pull the cork from a bottle of Italian grape,  when a meditative chant of savored words flings forward and alters my quivering voice,   I feel a reverberating reminder from a distant place where you and I played our parts.

My immersion, in service to you,  readily amplifies in my mind’s eye the wet of your mouth, the song in your eyes, the thoughts pinned under your suit and tie.

The pressure of your fingertips seems always  there, finding me wanting,  hovering,  just under the buttons of my blouse, where fantasy takes form while we are apart.

#for Reticent Mental Property with photo credit to someone lucky enough to spend a life traveling Italy with a camera and a mastery of the romance languages.

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