I’m slow to get words on the page,
My plan was to be quicker.
My wish was for a flurry of inspiration that would swirl through my arms,
and steadily trickle out my fingertips.
She has different plans.
I pause with worry that procrastination is knocking down the sand castle I built for writing.
And, I’m catching onto her ways.
Today, she has a lot of requests…
A candle propped up in an abalone shell cushioned by coral rose petals.
My purple velvet comforter we fondly refer to as my “royal robe” sprawled across the floor.
She rolls up the blinds so I can watch how the wind strokes the trees.
A jar of water with the sweet juices of tangerine chunks rests in waiting to taste my lips.
She wants me warm, but she wants me bare.
As She sets the tone, I start to feel it...
The heat rising to ruby my cheeks.
A slight nausea flips my stomach from trying to anticipate the twist and turns of the unknown.
With Her, we could go in any direction.
If I’m honest, I love her spontaneity.
And, a truth is I also cling to a fear that I can’t keep up.
She knows my panties can twist when she springs a sudden detour
— hence, her insistence on no panties.
With all the pieces sprawled out on the floor, I sit with my computer ready to go to town.
She immediately takes it from my hands and casts it aside.
Soak up the fact that you’re here.
You cleared the space.
You're crowned by the chandelier you’ve talked to stars about.
Do you hear the birds singing your praises?
Rest here with me.
I sit, and then lay down.
She strokes my hair while I watch the candle flicker.
I close my eyes when fingers start to prance and slide to circle my breasts and rump.
She has all the time in the world to be fully with me,
so she always moves at a snail's pace.
Not having to race to a finish line,
She graces me with the gift of moving as slow as I need
to feel myself fully.
While my body is explored, my breath is the only thing that moves me.
Every so often a pinch or knead.
All soft, nothing rushed.
Nowhere to go but deeper into rest.
Fingers stroke between my legs while others perch upon my ribs.
The rhythmic strokes keep their pace even as the wilderness wets itself.
It’s a different experience to be fed,
Rather than grab for food.
I didn’t bite,
I simply held my lips open.
A wave and then stillness.
A second swell to unfurl a fold.
No climbing, floating at sea level.
A white hot, red carpet rolls out for my Essence
To strut out and kiss the world she came from.
She feeds me until I’m full,
then instructions me to leave the mess, and celebrate any spilled milk.
She lifts my fingers to the tip of my nose…