lust but not least

If I were to run for the headache of the year,I'd win no doubt. A strong pain in the right side of my head is pulsing from 4 hours or so and it feels as the hand of an agry god is trying to pull out my right eye from my skull with a spoon... I'd rather lay it down on a railtrack and wait for next Intercity to come instead of being here, pretending to work. I can't focus on anything!

This would be a perfect time for a chamomile-sofa-silent kind of afternoon, you see.
Or for a slow body massage-slow talking- slow love making kind of afternoon. Yep, this one would be the best..

I must be one of the few women in the world who actually doesn't mind making love with a headache or other physical diseases... I mean, making love having a headache. I know that many of us often make love with or to a "headache" or a real pain in the ass.. ;-P

In the past months with Mr.Charms I discovered I was never too aching to make love. I might have been too worried, or too blue, but never too aching. Physical pains such as headache, bellyache, strains, bruises or so were not enough to restrain me from love, much to his delight.. just as, much to my delight he was never too worried or anxious or troubled to make love to me.

Looking back I have to admit that I fell in love with that powerful body of his before falling in love with him.
It has nothing to do with being handsome or having spectacular muscles (which in fact he has..). He's not even my kind. I like tall men and he's just a few cm taller than me, just to say one. I've always loved him as one of my best friends, so it was not about the "having sex with a stranger" thrill.
It's something more subtle, like an ocean stream that led me offshore and made me fall head over heels. At first it was his hands moving when he talked. Then the scent of his neck. Then the skin spot I could see where the chest starts and the shirt ends. It was like that scene in Annie Hall when they talk about something but the subtitles show their inner dialogue..
Our bodies exchanged hungry looks while we talked about politics or movies or whatever.

Day by day, his body taught me to let go of my stiffness and fear.
In the night his chest talked a whispering language to my back while we slept in each other's arms and his whole physical being had me under his spell faster than the eye could flick. I would have done anything in and out of the bed, I could have played any game. Because I felt so at ease, so carefree, so clean and clear.. I was his angel. His mischievous, sexy babe. His heaven. And he was mine. My tireless lover. My master. My slave. His skin was my silky sheet and his arms were my blanket. His lap was my pillow.

We were a whole world.

That was not about love. It was more than that. It was going to the roots of being woman and man. To the essence of human nature.

The funny thing is that despite all the cruel words he said, despite the suffering and the pain, I'm not angry at his hands, or his sex or his tongue. The power of this desire really sweeps me off my feet.
Don't get me wrong, I longed for P so much I can't tell. The men that followed struck me, too, and turned me on. I'd be a total fool to deny it. And a very sad girl...
But they never really reached the core. I thought that was the best, that excitement, that heat... the truth is I didn't know I had a deeper core to be reached. I didn't pretend. I really was content. Just because I didn't know I could be more than content and satisfied.
I didn't know I could be perfect.