I shiver from the breeze, maybe just from the want of you being near me, I pull my clothes closer, but it’s not enough, I need more, your touch. The strength of those hands, the power in your arms, the firmness in your bite, chased the cold, left me burning, wanting, fighting to stay right. But I don’t want to, but yes I do. I fight with the choice, to do right, or let you do what I want you to do.

Your mouth hungry, dine upon my nectar, take your fill, I always return the favor. Slide your hands, pull away my protection, my bodies warmth, no need for more shelter. Your teeth graze my flesh, pull, loosen, and tighten, I can’t catch my breath. I move away, within your arms I cannot stay, I turn from you, pause at the feel of you grasping my hips, moving my legs apart, your breathing a harsh whisper in my ear. I don’t want you to stop, her need surreal.

To be filled, if only for a space of time, hot with rhythm wanting to play out, tension building, releasing at incline, breathing ragged, ride the wave, let it play through you, feel the force of the need, watch it recede and leave you, naked, pained, but wishing for more. Craving and reminiscing about the power of its’ thrust. Come back and play, I have more, to give, want more, to take.




How can any relationship, friendship, dating even family, function or have healthy longevity when one person thinks the other needs no one.

That’s how people seem to see me. I’m this statue that doesn’t need help, love, or other people to lean on. Just like a statue, people admire you, they wish they could be as “valued”, as “sought after”. They can appreciate your beauty, but they don’t really understand what made you that way. And we all know how things go when you have your favorite thing. You can’t put it down, and when you finally do, you never pick it back up.

But I’m not a statue. Me being a strong person has never negated my need for the same love, affection, or support that others receive. Me being strong is the result of not having those things, of being afraid, abused, mistreated, and told no one would ever love me. I’m strong because people were so unreliable and because I had to be; have to be.

I just don’t understand how people can look at that strength and use it as a reason to abandon me, treat me poorly, or constantly make me have to stand alone. Strength does not equate to heartless. It does not equate to not feeling pain or suffering. It just equates to me being able to ALWAYS make it through. That I ALWAYS fight.

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