“Untitled” is kind of how I feel at the moment. I don’t have a word or a line to express what is going on in my life and in my head right now. I had someone tell me I should just write, and of all the people I know the encouragement came from a person I thought I left behind in my past and in a heap of disheveled sheets; Alejandro. We haven’t had sex in almost three years, but we keep in touch every so often. While I have been going through what I would consider a transition in my life, he has given me some advice that I didn’t expect. The most poignant thing was for me to go back to writing.

Just write, he said. It doesn’t matter what it is. Just start and the rest will come eventually.

This isn’t all I have to expose of what’s been going on. This is merely an introduction of sorts. Because what I do have to say is embarrassing, sad, at times angry, revealing, sometimes selfish, and hurtful. But its true. All of it. And it feels like I need to rev my own engines and find some fucking courage because I know (and I hope I’m right about this because I’ve been so damned wrong lately) that I can’t be the only person going or has gone through this. Maybe, the reason I’m really doing this is to know that if I fall and put it all out there, I will land on some sort of internet safety net. That I’m not really alone, no matter how alone I feel.

Love, Scarlett

Sex in the Hospital or The time we were Ghosts

Back in February I wrote a piece about the time Henri and I had sex in a hospital. It was posted to wonderfully new site, Simply Sxy, which I have been meaning to share. Here it is, please enjoy! And if you needed tissues to finish reading this, then I am one happy lady!


It was the summer right after graduating high school. I was newly 18, ready for college, and deeply in love with my boyfriend. We had been together for almost two years and in that time had sex in a handful of public places, from parks to museums to busses. But sometimes we tried to push further, merely because we could. However this time the August heat was a contributing factor.

If you don’t live in a big city, then you can’t imagine the kind of traffic a person runs into at 3 in the afternoon. Add extensive heat and every single human emotion flairs up like a hot air balloon and it has to escape somewhere, somehow. Luckily we were in a city bus that was merely sprinkled with riders. After initially content to escape the heat, the frigid air conditioner quickly chilled the bus as we waited in traffic and I huddled against my Henri for additional warmth.

But I never just cuddle.

My hands wandered inside his pockets, at a time when he only wore boxers and it made it so easy for me to play with him. I buried my nose into the nape of his neck and nibbled slightly, causing him to smile. My heart warmed to see that smile, and for me was always a sign of encouragement. I whispered to him all the things I wish I could do if no one was here; how lucky he was that I couldn’t strip him of his clothes right then and there; and how slick and wet I was thinking of the possibilities…

The bus pulls into the next stop and finally the road ahead of us is clear of cars for the remainder of the ride. We were on the way to see my doctor, but she was the last thing on my mind. The touching never stops, and we were so anxious to have a moment alone. Entering her office, I was unusually giddy, and my doctor took this as sign of my being completely smitten. Yes, I was completely in love. But I was also sticking to the wetness on my panties and sitting next to him, not being able to touch him as I wished, was an excruciating feeling. I had to keep my legs crossed while he was there, the sound of his voice and the heat he emanated kept the flow of wetness consistent. When he was asked to wait for me in the waiting room until the appointment, he softly kissed my lips and his voice dipped low and rough to say

“I’ll be waiting for you…” in that way that only he and I understood.

I was impatient. I was hormonally desperate to escape this place and go somewhere, anywhere for us to have sex. But where would we go? The sun was still too bright outside to discretely find a spot in the park. And by this time the bus would be over flowing with people. We always find a place…

After I was done, I crossed the hall to find Henri sitting quietly, flipping through an old magazine. We stood in what was supposed to be a children’s waiting room, equipped with its own half kitchen and half bathroom. For months it had remained unused in the middle of a supposed reconstruction. The blinds had been turned down, and in the darkness the toys and books left behind gave the room a creepy abandoned house feel. I wanted to leave, but I wasn’t in a rush to enter the heat again.

“Are we leaving?” He was just as uncomfortable with the appearance of the room.

“Hold on, let me go check my hair in the mirror before we go,” and I headed to the small bathroom. The tiny toddler toilet was emptied of water, and the privacy curtain lay limp to one side of the bathroom, attached by two metal rings. Unused waiting room chairs stacked on top of one another completed what could have been mistaken as a storage closet save for the small clearing that remained in front of the sink and mirror.

“Trust me babe, this place has looked a lot better—” my lip gloss fell and in bending over to pick it up, I saw Henri’s feet approaching.

“Do you like the view?”

I received a hard smack across my bottom as a response and I laughed when he grabbed onto my haunches and bucked himself into me. “Are you getting hard, baby?” I did my little girl impression, pushing into him, slowly gyrating my hips and feeling his bulge grow under his jeans. He unzipped his pants while he locking the door behind us. My shorts were hardly settled at my ankles by the time he shoved his cock into me. He thrust hard, rotating his hips in wide circles; I covered my mouth with my hand to stop myself from screaming as he stretched my pussy with each rotation.

We hear chatter and footsteps approaching the room. We were initially frozen, but he slowly continued, pulling far out and rotating his cock in tiny circles on the nub of my clit, then entering me slowly, reminding me in a muffled whisper not to make a sound.

We hear the two women retrieving items from the refrigerator. Henri was relentless with his tease, and in the mirror I could see a mischievous smile on his face and the warmth of a hand moving across my back side. His thumb rubbed circles on my anus, adding various points of pressure here and there, moans managing to escape the prison of my fingers.

I don’t know if the women were still there or not, but for a moment the sound of the world disappeared and all I heard was the sound of our heartbeats synchronized with the huffs of our breaths. He went faster and my cunt felt the expansion of his cock and his cum filling me inside.

“Oh my goodness, did you hear that?”

“What the hell was that?! Hello? Is someone here?”

The door handle jingled, but we remained silent. The beads of sweat falling from my temple and my heartbeat sounded the same while I stood bent over the chair.

“Hello?! Jeez Lisa, this room gives me the creeps!”

“I agree, let’s get out of here. I’m keeping my lunch in my office from now on…”

We heard the footsteps fade away and fixed ourselves, withholding our laughter until we were safely outside in the August heat.

“Did you enjoy being ghosts for a while?” I asked Henri as we waited for the bus that took me home.

“As long as I’m inside of you, I will be anything, anywhere.”

-Scarlett Dubois

Featured on SimplySxy

His Winter Goddess

The man had a love of plants. He would always post pictures of his beauties (as he called them) online and videos detailing their care, species, and other information. I dubbed him the Handsome Gardener, but just Handsome when we spoke. He grew herbs indoors as well, eating one of the leaves in a video “because nothing goes to waste in my home.”

I commented with a cheeky “Eat it up!

And to that he wrote “I love to eat everything organic and fresh.


This had been going on for some time now, the cute comments and texting here and there. We hinted at meeting up somewhere, but never laid down concrete plans. He was incredibly sweet, calling me names such as Empress, and Goddess. A text message from him never failed to make me smile, and even the comments he would leave for me online would brighten up a rough day.

I posted a photo online of a chicken recipe I planned on making for dinner that night. “All I need is fresh basil and rosemary and I can begin!” My phone lit up and buzzed; a new comment already! But this was a text message from him, my Handsome Gardner:

Hey! I grow those herbs here at my house. You can come here and pick them up if you like.

I was already dressed and ready to go to a market that sold those items. However, it was located about 45 minutes away from my home via public transportation, and this would be a great time, if one of the few that I could hang out with this handsome man.

Sure! That would be great! Give me the address and I’ll take a cab.

He was downstairs in front of my apartment building in less than ten minutes. It took us twice that time to get to his home, so I wondered if he had rushed over to me. The thought alone, of his possible excitement to see me, made me shiver while we walked through the entrance of his home.

It smelled like a day in woods when I was 10, where I would go fishing with my parents. The smell calmed me immediately, while flashes of squirming fish, the smoke of a fire, and the polyester blend of a tent so thin, I could see the stars twinkling through flooded my mind. We were still only in the living area. He motioned for me to continue following, and we past the kitchen, a mudroom, and finally found our way outside, a few squares of concrete separating us from the back yard. But it was unlike anything I had ever seen before in my life.

I am accustomed to a green lawn with a few chairs, a table, and maybe a pool. But this was an island within the island. From small potted plants, bright neon flora, and even an apple tree perfectly centered at the far end of his inner city oasis. I was mesmerized by the beauty of the tree, even though there were no apples in it. I felt fingers touch mine, and he softly raised my hand and place a newly plucked flower in it.

“Hellebores, commonly called a Winter Rose,” he said with a smile. Oh my, what a beautiful smile he has…

I slowly raised my head and was surprised to lock into his eyes. He took the flower and kissed it, sliding into my hair.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, and my words of appreciation came out in girlish giggle. My smile caused me to blush again and I looked away, but his finger caught my chin and redirected my face back into the path of his gaze. He swiped a curl away from my eyes like setting aside a vine, and lifted my face unto his. Our lips met and did their dance under the apple tree lit by the sun and I felt like I was taken away from the world that I knew. Somewhere in the distance there was a ringing. The phone shook us out of our enchantment and he ran to answer it leaving me with a breathless “I’ll be right back” to hold onto.

I began to think about what he might be on the phone talking about. I know he was a very busy and man and taking care of these plants are a job within itself. I hope he doesn’t have to go…

I looked above me, the sun bobbing past the leaves into my eyes. The air, the sun, the trees, and the smell of the winter rose flowing through my body like poison. I lifted my hands in the air and caught the rays of the sun on my fingertips, the soft breeze caressing a section of my exposed stomach. My skin prickled in appreciation, and I instinctively removed all my clothing save for my cotton panties, the rest falling like leaves to a heap at one side, and allowed myself once more to salute the sun and earth with my hands stretched upright.

The air was cold, but it’s been much colder than this. Still, my nipples hardened and greeted the wind. It swept between my legs, and bristled the teeniest of hairs reaching the surface. I leaned against the barren tree, unbothered by the coarseness of the bark. I began to sway with the whooshing wind and brushing against the tree, and soon I resembled a flesh colored lizard, every inch of me covered in bumps, every part of me reaching for the winter air. I turned and let my nipples grace the tree, embracing it like a lover. I had forgotten about the handsome owner of this yard and merely enjoyed the silence of the cold winter air circling around me. His hand felt like an extension of the air, cold and hard, the back of his hand so cold it felt like steel, and traced the curve of my spine. Reaching the end, I shuddered and tipped my bottom up and stood on my toes.

“Keep your eyes closed, Goddess.” His hands became the wind and ran circles across my skin, ensnared itself into the roots of my hair and pulled, allowing him to easily kiss my neck. I went to reach back, to touch him, but he took my hand and slowly turned me around, whispering once again, “Keep your eyes closed…” and his voice made the heat rise in my cheeks. He took both my hands and placed them on his shoulders. I couldn’t help but place my own hands behind his neck and entangle my own fingers in his fine hair, pulling him in and kissing him hard. He grabbed my hands, firmly this time, and in a deeper tone, said

“Please, my sweet…” and softly kissed my earlobe. He proceeded to kiss me, trailing lower and lower, and his hands following in its trace, and seeking refuge upon my perked nipples. I felt his breath under my navel and my heart beat faster. He nudged his chin between my thighs and kissed me some more. His tongue parted my lips, his hands reached under and behind me, lifting my legs onto his shoulders, and he feasted. He held me firm and balanced, my hands reached out to clutch onto the branches above me. Snow, fresh from a quick flurry this morning, sprinkled down like feathers, and melted upon contact.

The first orgasm rolled on his sweet tongue and still he continued, my body spasming against his face pressed tightly between me. I kept my eyes closed but my screams I could not contain and I begged to be fucked, I needed it. It was a request that went unanswered and there he remained. He moved my buttocks up and down, grinding my body against his face until I took up the motion. He pressed harder and onto my second orgasm. He stood up from his crouching position, turned me around and took my place with his back to the tree, folding me into his arms and cradling me as the tree cradled us. He removed his coat and covered me in it, and we sat beneath the apple tree, my legs simmering down to a quiver. He found my flower, and put it in its former place, his finger lingering on an adherent curl. 

“My winter Goddess…”

– Scarlett

Masturbation Monday

An Untitled Message

The four-year anniversary of creating this blog passed about a week ago. I didn’t know what it was that I had begun, or even what I would write about. All I knew is that I needed to shed some guilt and hopefully find a way to express myself. Since my transgression was due to sexual repression, I began to write about my fantasies and past sexual moments that stood out in my memory, all having to do with my husband. Reminiscing about times before our son, before moving in together, before my cancer, before his diabetes, before the pressures of life diminished our fervent passions.

With the placement of our agreement, I finally decided to push apprehension aside and pursue those fantasies I had written about and searched for on porn sites. I went the route of fucking around, meeting guys online and meeting at the motel. I didn’t want anything elegant or romantic. My agenda had always been to just have great sex. I initially thought I needed a big dick, since Henri is not huge and has always been self-conscious about his size. But they weren’t as easy to come by so I settled with personality, with the penis a bonus. That turned out to be tricky because sometimes the personality was fantastic and the dick was sub-par. I quickly found out that I was tired of playing roulette with these men online, and after 4 hook ups, I was ready to take a break. Then here comes Sir Dre, in all his Domly glory. After our first meeting, I saw all the times I had searched for BDSM, Bondage, submission flash before my eyes and file itself away somewhere, because it didn’t compare to this. I had given my submission to someone and had it inexplicable stripped from me over a year and a half later by his absence. Three months and still no word. In a world so technologically advanced, that has to be a sign right? I don’t know what happened, or if I did anything wrong. But I know I don’t deserve this.

As I told my friend Chloe, it feels as though he was inadvertently preparing me for this. He had been keeping his distance from me, always because of work or something that was going on. But if I’ve learned anything this year, is that if someone wants to talk to you, they will. And it was a lesson that has hit me hard. This year, I’ve wasted my time waiting on men who were amazingly hung, insanely charismatic, one who appealed greatly to the bad boy persona every girl craves, and one man whom I had chosen to trust, who has honestly pissed me off more than hurt me with his disappearance. Still, at the very end of it all I got more heartache than dick, and that really grinds my gears. The headache, the bullshit, still all my fault because I had let it all get to me and searched for the wrong things.

In each of these men I found something that I was missing, that had left some time ago where we decided to stop trying and allowed life and its events get the best of us, Henri and I. We lay in bed and I looked at him and said “I think we–mostly me–should stop trying to fuck other people and work on this, us right here.”

And he began to pick something from his slowly growing beard.

I turned over and went to sleep, and tried again the next day.

With the weight of the holidays freshly behind us and a new year about to begin, I am so fucking ready to say goodbye to my 20’s and look forward what my 30’s bring for me to experience. This year emotionally kicked my ass, but it also taught me to grow the fuck up. There are more important things in my life to invest in, but I shouldn’t forget about the things that make me feel good. Plus, I want Henri and I to grow further together, and if we can still manage this other debaucherous lifestyle, that would be great but it shouldn’t replace us.

The future of this blog is currently undecided. So many others I know have disappeared, gone private, slowed down. I would be one of many to disappear. But this feels so intimate to me, like a great friendship that is hard to break, no matter the distance between us. For now I want to raise an imaginary glass of champagne to you all and tell you Happy New Year. I hope it brings good fortune, better sex, and more love than we have ever known.

Photo found on Google search



A Change of Season

A Scarlet leaf that fell and found me.

The leaves were green and shedding their
Waxy exterior
When our eyes last met.
Now yellowing, some have begun
Their descent
Into the ground they’ll go, a new cycle to begin.
I feel the warmth of your memory
Growing as the days get colder;
Perhaps because my hope has not died
That I will see you sooner than expected.
I keep the feeling on my lips burning,
And the shivers left from your fingertips
On my thighs
Remain like the ardent etchings of a tattoo.

You are a rare Creature, one who
Takes flight
For a momentary and unnatural hibernation,
Where you disappear for moons
And ignore the change of seasons.
While you are gone, I cannot guarantee
Not to fall,
Or freeze with the coming snow,
Nor grow along the daisies in the Spring.
I await the fear of growth that comes from the
Seedling you planted,
Now much too long in the nature of our history.
I hope you rest well, dearly intrinsic Creature, and
Return as bright as the sun that will greet you.


This may be the end of us…

I haven’t written about Sir Dre in months because there hasn’t been anything to write. We saw each other in April for a session at our favorite hotel. Work picked up generously for him and throughout the spring and summer, he spent it traveling and working. We would speak about once a week, sometimes the days between our phones calls would be longer, not exceeding two weeks. By August, when Henri went on a weekend ‘fishing trip’ (which ended up being a lie, but that’s another story entirely), I invited Sir to my home so that we can spend some time together. However, on that day he also had a job lined up and so we had only 5 hours to spend together. We did have sex, but it was nothing like our meetings at the hotel. We did one position twice and then watched television and took a nap. “Don’t worry baby girl; next time we meet up, we’ll do what we do,” he said.

Since that day, we have spoken on the phone a total of three times, once in August two days after we saw each other, and twice in September. I called almost daily, worried out of my mind that something may have happened to him. I had texted, sent emails, and received no reply. When he finally called me in September after over a month of no communication, he explained to me that he had been in a bad mental state, not himself since hearing he may need surgery for an injury he incurred sometime in June. While I’m understanding of this situation, I was upset. What makes you think its right for you to disappear for over a month? You ignored all forms of me reaching out to you, and I was completely worried about you. Why couldn’t you at least text me and say you were alright, you just needed space? 

He apologized and said it would not happen this way again, that he would make more of an effort to stay in contact with me no matter the circumstances. But here we go, over a month since the last time we spoke on the phone and still I have not heard from him. I understand his need for space, but I feel that as his submissive, I should be a person of comfort for him, not someone to keep away from. This pattern of separation seems to have grown and I feel that perhaps I should have seen this coming, but I honestly didn’t expect it, especially from Sir.

I recall a conversation we had last year, where he told me there would come a day where I would “outgrow him.” That I would reach a level of this lifestyle where I need more than he can provide, and I will have to move on. That conversation continues to play over and over in my head as I strongly consider cutting submissive ties with Sir Dre. Beginning this sexual evolution of mine, BDSM was not something I was looking for; it was a fantasy to me. Something I would search porn sites for centered around it and daydream of being in those situations, never thinking it could happen to me while I came to visions of it in my head. As I looked for a fuck buddy, Sir Dre crossed my path, and began to teach me about the lifestyle, taking me under his wing as a mentor. After our first meeting, I wanted to do this, to be apart of this feeling he provided as my Dom. Our first year was good, with our meetings sparse but fulfilling, and long intimate phone calls in between. This year however, seems more trying, and with the interim of communication growing longer apart, the distance seems so much more than what it is.

I have love for him, I do. But keeping me in limbo like this is frustrating, hurtful, and sexually stifling. I think that right now he should completely focus on his health in all forms, and I can still remain a close friend and confidant if he were to need one. Honestly, that is how I have felt for months. Our D/s relationship was only touched upon in our sessions at the hotel room since late last year. We don’t get into headspace over the phone or work on my submission to him otherwise and because of this, I’ve even questioned my role in the lifestyle. I believe it is time I step away from it, and while I wish him all the best, it is also best for the both us if I were no longer his sub. There are things within himself and his life he needs to work on and I feel there is no space for me right now.

If you have any words of advice, I would truly appreciate it.


TMI Tuesday: What’s in your car?

Something to break up the non-sex that’s been going on around here…


1. What CD is in your Cd player?
No cd player, we use our iPods a lot and we have Sirius XM radio.

2. Turn on your car radio, what station is it tuned to?
Sirius XM radio channel Octane

3. What is in your glove box?
The car manual, insurance card, napkins, and a tiny bottle of perfume for me.

4. Are there any stickers on your bumper? What? (You can post photos too).

5. What stickers or car magnets are on your car? (You can post photos too).
None. The car is six months old, but we don’t want to defile it yet with stickers.

6. When you drive do you have a favorite beverage? What?
I don’t know how to drive yet, but Henri loves coffee and I’m a sucker for iced tea.

7. What is the most unique thing about your car?
We named her Scarlett, after my pseudonym for the blog. And because she’s red 

8. Have you modified or decorated or enhanced your steering wheel?
No, still as it was when it rolled off the lot.

9. If your normal mode of transportation is a bicycle or a motorcycle, what have you done to personalize it?

10. If your regular mode of transportation is public transport–bus or subway–what do you do to pass the time on your rides?
I listen to music on my iPod and daydream a lot!

Bonus: What is the sexiest thing in your car?
The leather seats. Oh so smooth against my skin…

TMI Tuesday



They Don’t Know You

The memories, these feelings I can no longer abate
As I jot these words down with a flourish of hate.

People sing your praises, honesty far-flung
You are selfish and borderline cruel; should I go on?
Deceitful, you have twisted lies and lives
To ensure that only your breed survives.

Your love is a plague that darkens the hope,
Feeds the ravenous flames and chokes the smoke.
A kindness is to leave before you’ve left,
Yet niceties are unnatural, you require deathly effect

Blinded, we fell into the pit you laid
Of gilded roses, with our love we paid
To enter the recesses of your heart and mind,
Only to conclude there are things in this life we will never find.

Release me from your clutches, set me free!
I want no more attachment of you to me.
I no longer wish to see you near;
A monster who loves, but does not (cannot) care.


Click the button to see more Wicked posts this Wednesday.

Squishy Boobday

People do the oddest things when they are restless, alone or lost in thought. Some nibble on their fingernails, twirl their hair, doodle on a scrap of paper. I touch my boobs.

They are really soft, and I’ll find myself idly petting them on top, the cleavage part occasionally exposed at the top of a v-neck t-shirt. There are lines etched into them, marks of growth throughout the years, and my fingers glide over them like braille. When I’m in the middle of writing, there are times that I’m at a lost for inspiration or for the right words to type out. I’ll grab each side, and squeeze my breasts together, squashing and kneading them like fresh dough. I scratch them gently just to see the red lines appear on my skin. Sometimes, I slap them together because the sound of them hitting with force reminds me of the sex I should be having. Other times I simply caress the exterior of my shirt over them, concentrating on my nipples. Hard nipples under a shirt is the sexiest image for me, and having a bird’s eye view of it excites me.


It’s a beautiful thing when a woman can get turned on just by looking or feeling herself. I don’t consider it self-centeredness but self-love and despite occurrences in my life that have questioned the love of myself and body, I still love myself, and I love my body.

And hell almighty I love my fucking boobs.




When good vibes collide

I haven’t met someone like you in what seems like a very long time. We followed each other on social media for almost two years, merely existing between posts and clicking ‘like’ under photos. I knew you were in my city; so close to me in fact we may have crossed paths many times and not have known it. But I said nothing, mostly because I thought I’m not his type. He’s not my type; not what I’m looking for. I had this image of what I wanted a fuck buddy to be, and I’m sorry but it wasn’t you. Still, I was drawn to you and I thought the reason was the close proximity; maybe we could be good friends. He seems like a really cool guy. In retrospect, perhaps my subconscious was telling me something I couldn’t see until now.


I found Sir Dre, and thought this is exactly what I’ve been looking for! The intensity he provides will be enough. But after a year, there was still something in me not fully satisfied. I had come to realize that while I do have submissiveness inside me, there is a harder part within me. One that craves to take control; to pinch and scratch; to strike with conviction and momentarily change the color of skin. To wrap my hands around delicate parts of the body and watch the inner fires rise in the eyes of the person who trusts me to take them to the euphoric limits. But I also want that person to do the same to me.


I spoke to many men before I got to you. And it happened in the most unexpected way, with a post: Ask me anything, and I have to answer no matter what. And that’s it. We began texting here and there, but you’re job and other responsibilities made it difficult to be consistent. I deleted and then redid my profile many times, always looking for you again. Looking for that ‘friend’ I had made. When we finally spoke on the phone, it was an instant connection. We’ve walked a similar path, have known similar people, lived similar lives. Why had it taken us so long to get here? But still, I couldn’t be sure.

And then came that day. You told me, if even for a minute, you had to see me. If just to say ‘Hello.’ Work had kept you away, that’s why I hadn’t heard from you, and now you wanted to see me no matter what. You picked me up, drove me around, we came back to my place. I was flattered by your nervousness, how you were incredibly shy, but mostly how your eyes never left me. I stood to fetch something to drink and I could feel you looking at me.

Stop staring at my ass! I laughed, expecting you to say you weren’t looking. Instead you removed your glasses and apologized. No, I was just joking. Stare all you want… and I had to stop myself from saying or doing something that might lead to more than talking.

“I was watching the way you move…” Your smile made me blush, and I looked away struck with the giggles.

Time in my apartment was of the essence and being alone was a short-lived luxury. Our shared loved for Tequila had been a bonding agent, and I offered you some, hoping it would ease you a bit. It absolutely did the trick. You sat closer, and I noticed you tried to hold my hand, but I would pull away and occupy it stroking the cat or adjusting my shirt. You stopped shaking, and your gaze was intensely concentrated on me. I took a shot to handle my oncoming nerves. You looked at me with the eyes of an artist on his muse, a smile on your lips as I spoke. You looked at me as though you worshipped me. Like I was something new and rare. I haven’t felt that in years. 

The hour came and went and it was time for you to go.

“Can I get a kiss before I leave?” you asked.

“I don’t really do that. I only kiss my–”

But you didn’t wait to hear the rest of my sentence. You’re lips were on mine and I knew then you are the reason why I had that rule within myself not to kiss anyone.

“One more before I go…” became 3 more, and I had to push myself away from your wandering hands. If I hadn’t pried you off of me and out the door, we could have been caught in a compromising position by my son and my friend.

I had wanted to see you immediately. If that is what kissing him feels like, I wonder…

And wonder is what I did when work took you away from me again for almost two weeks. The next time we met, I had expectations of spending intimate time with you, unwrapped on top of blankets in a bed somewhere. Instead, our first stop at 8:36 in the morning was the beach.

I’ll admit, I laughed it off at first. He already has me where he wants me. Is he trying to lay it on real thick now? Go the ‘extra mile?’ I wasn’t sure of your intentions, but I desperately needed time away from home and seeing as we had the whole day available to us, what was a few minutes at the beach? An hour and a half later, you held onto my shoes, socks, and sweater like the gentleman you are so that I could walk in the water and wet sand barefoot.

How did you know? I didn’t realize what my soul needed until my feet touched the balmy ocean water, my worries and sins receding with the foam and leaving peace behind. We spoke about our family, our past, some worries, and the beauty of the beach. Besides us and a handful of fishermen, it was empty. We sat in your car, my gift offering of Tequila idly beside us. You had to take a swig before our walk to calm your nerves again (which I find so incredibly sexy I wanted to fly to the nearest dark corner and take you then). It seemed like all the energy we had built on that walk came with us, and could not be contained in that space. I fought it, knowing what I wanted to do, but not sure we should do it again. The last time, I had to get drunk to numb the feeling of your lips on mine.

“I’m scared to kiss you without touching you. That if I kiss you, you’ll disappear on me again.” You looked at me and said, “I know. I’m sorry,” and I didn’t fight anymore. I grabbed you by your red sweater and pulled you to me. We tore at the nuisance of our clothing, trying to touch whatever we could. We would come apart only to come together again, my hand over your neck, your hands pulling at my face, lost in my hair, wanting more as if you could fuse us together.

Then your fucking phone rang…

And I haven’t seen you since. Almost two weeks and you linger on my skin like a sunburn. This is a long version of foreplay and the anticipation is eating away at me. When will I hear from him again? Will I ever? Is everything alright? I couldn’t ask you to stay; I don’t reserve that right. But sometimes I wish I would have asked anyway. I could have been writing and feeling something different. Honestly, I began writing again because I needed to get you off my mind. I hope to see you again, but if I don’t, please know how grateful I am to have met you, handsome. The passions and the fantasies you’ve stirred up in me brought me out of my shell again.


P.S: Like the sand we stood on, he slipped between my fingers. I wish him all the best in life and I hope it was as fun for him for awhile as it was for me. xxx