Becoming

Things are going extremely well with Mr. Artist.

If anything crashes down, it’ll be because of me.

I just know it.

I spent an amazing evening with him last night.

I greeted him at the door, covered in a black satin robe.

He gave me flowers, Stargazer Lilies, my favorite.

I surprised him with what was underneath the robe.

Black lacy panties and a low cut black baby doll style camisole with small white lace trim lining the bust.

“For you,” I smiled and slowly walked to my room, shedding my robe.

He followed me.

As he kissed me, I whispered in his ear, “I want you to do whatever you want with me.”

He murmured, “In that case, I want to do whatever brings you the most pleasure.”

He knows foreplay.

Very well.

He even worked in a sensual massage into it.

And true to his word, he spend the evening trying to elicit as many moans as he could from me.

He’s a pleaser.

And given that it’s really difficult to make me orgasm, he made me climax twice.

Hard.

It’s been over a year since someone has done that.

Afterwards, we were both soaked in sweat and took a shower.

It’s been years since I’ve showered with someone.

Being ever the sweetheart, he scrubbed my body for me and we talked.

He asked me why I’m so quiet after sex.

I told him it’s because I normally just fall asleep, that I’m more like a man that way.

He said he’s used to women being chatty, asking what he’s thinking after and he’s usually just trying to wind down

I told him, right? I just had amazing sex, I don’t need to think about anything.

He looked at me with shy smile and asked, it was amazing?

Yes, I said and kissed him

Today I should have been over the moon.

Except the training I went to at work triggered some melancholy when I had to draw my “safe place” and realized that my safe place is feeling sad.

Before that I found myself fighting to stay present and not focus so much on the relationships I’ve lost or freaking out about the future and my ever present fear of “settling”.

Tonight I found myself passively trying to sabotage things with Mr. Artist by eluding to the idea that I’m no different to him than the many women he’s dated or cared for in the past.

I suppose I’ve been so honest with him about my issues that he immediately picked up on it and asked if my defenses were up.

I said yes and told him about being triggered.

He called me.

I talked about my lifelong struggle with depression and my fear of settling.

I was honest about my struggle to be present and just enjoy the moment.

He listened and allowed me to talk.

Gave his own examples.

Gave a different perspective.

And in talking to him, I found myself being present.

He helps ground me.

Not in a dependent way, it’s just this sense that washes over me when I’m in contact with him.

I am fully capable of taking care of myself and managing my triggers.

But it’s nice that just his presence, whether on the phone or in person has that immediate effect on me.

I constantly thank him for being patient with me.

He tells me, you’ve given me many reasons to be so.

He gives me so many reasons not to run away scared.

Not to focus on what or who I feel I’ve lost.

What does it mean when someone adds to your life?

When they enhance it rather than complicate or drain it?

That’s what he is becoming to me.

 

 

 

 

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About samlobos

I am an avid fan of creating narratives in my head about random experiences and quotes for future books I will probably not write. I harbor a 15 year old girl in my psyche and like to solve world issues when I'm half asleep. View all posts by samlobos

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