And the Silence Begins


I write on a Friday afternoon.

The silence surrounds me. This silence stills my movements. My hips do not dance in this chamber of echoes.

I begin to mumble, to stutter, to pause. My mind wanders to another place, not here, a place where your words spill onto me. A place where your hand traces my lines, where mine return the favour, an oft traveled pathway, my finger traces your forearm, your shoulder, the bend of your neck, the line of your nose.

I pull myself back.

This love affair is lonely. We are bodies uniting in stilted moments. We are gorgeous grindings. We are glorious staccato breaths, arched backs pressing into three fingers, my mind imagines tomorrows sunrise- the waking, to You.


I am heartache and heartbeats and heartfelt.   


#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.

Her Friday

RMPvibesToday was supposed to be her Friday.  Arrangements had been made, attire selected, various and sundry items purchased for a bit of added pleasure.  Directions were shared, key location verified and plans to slip inside the door at noon were getting her through this week’s meetings and time in the gym.

“Something’s come up. Next week, darling.”

7am workout and a nice extra hip flex-or stretch from the trainer to realign her back.  Oh mercy.  She did not dare open her eyes when he stood between her legs and pressed her knee with his palm to release the muscles of her lower back. She knew better than to look him in the eye when she shifted her weight to get her hips closer to the edge for a better stretch.  So good. 

Coffee with friends at 9 bells, with the ones who wear pretty underthings, high heels Monday through Thursday, and know how to take it up a notch on the weekends.

10:30 am pedi with no guilt at all for paying that young man with strong hands a big fat tip for the way he rubbed the arches of her feet and cradled her heel in his hand while kneading out the soreness in her left, then her right calf. She pushes away the urge to up the service level and move to the massage table.

12Noon summer rolls with peanut dipping sauce and a little bit of white and the last chapter of Amor Towles’ The Rules of Civility. Wipe a tear, ponder why books and spa appointments and time with friends and lovers must end.

1:22 pm. Jangle of keys and a short walk down the street, up one flight of stairs and she raises her hand to rap twice on the red door of his summer place.  It’s been a few weeks. She cannot remember where his schedule has him this morning.  Philly for a new case with an old client. Ah, yes.  She remembers now.  The week before,  Miami and then gulf side for a bit of a getaway and before that it was the Chicago conference.   She lets herself in,  closes the door and leans the small of her back into the panel, palms flat, fingers outstretched to ground herself to the heavy wood until she hears the lock settle into place. She inhales deeply, one of those that takes the energy she needs deeply inside, almost to the depth he takes, and lets herself want more hours in a day.

Oh, beautiful giver:  take heart,  I believe a text has just come in.  Yes, it’s your Tuesday.  He’s confirming now. 

#for Reticent Mental Property.

Office Lap Dance

RMPorange nails
Typical Friday Afternoon Chat Excerpt

“right now what you need is a slow and thoroughly filling workout, with my thighs straddling yours as you sit in your office…here…allow me to assist in setting a slower pace…let me give you time to try and decide whether to grip the desk or trail your hands up my body, over my shoulders and wrap your hand around the bend of my neck, to firmly pull me down into your lap,  while I arch my back and start to keep a rhythm you can savor…you know I love your eyes traveling over my body as i move over you… you have to hold back when you think about how i accept the raw pleasure of this position…”

Meaningless work is no match for the adventurous mind.

# for Reticent Mental Property