The things I would do for you

Sometimes when I hear that the picture editor says things like “why don’t you reconcile with your wife,” and I then hear him talking to her on the phone about her latest medical issue (not intimate, but intimate nonetheless), I am threatened and get terribly jealous. The danger of withdrawal increases and threatens to take on a life of its own.

But then I have a day like last Sunday where we don’t leave the bed until four in the afternoon, and there is something that happens besides the obvious that opens us up to each other just a bit more, reaffirms our bond and brings us closer, sending us floating through work for the next few days in a fog.

And then there are email exchanges like this, that make me never want to be without him:

On 2/28/06 5:00 PM, "kitty" wrote:

> Ich bin gespannt auf der Alltag mit dir. Und heute abend. Ich freue mich.
> Doch. Ich habe eine Bitte. Komm heir. Gleich. Oder spaeter. Und wir
> studieren Biologie. Fortpfanzung Dinge, zum bespiele. Und lehsen fernsehen.
> Und schlafen gehen. Ich liebe dich.
> 
> Bis bald.

Kitty

Und die antwort:

I love you too.  I want you fucking.  I want with you the procreation to
practice.  And you the tongue in the throat to stick.  And you with the
hairbrush to spank.  And you the fingers in the pussy to shove.  And you to
the coming bring.

I can it hardly awaiting.

Liebe,

*

One would think that fucking and horniness would be inversely proportional, and maybe linear, but I don’t think it’s true. I think it might be a positive exponential function.

Eating too much: weiße Wurst mit süssem Senf

Drinking too much: Helles, half a litre, in the morning, for breakfast

Reading too much: White Teeth, Zadie Smith. Vorsprung (Rechtschreibreform spelling!)

Fucking too much: Last night: me on top, him holding my wrists behind my back.

And no, it’s never enough. I need him to come home right now so I can present him with my tender pussy, my aching tits and my hungry mouth. I always seem to provoke him…just the right amount of teasing, small insinuations whispered into his ear, a swift hard bite on the lower lip after a tender kiss…for him to want to slap me, and tug on my nipples, and hold me down into the pillows, ass slightly raised, him behind me pushing my knees apart, fucking me just so. One hand squeezing my ass, spreading my lips so he can watch his cock work in and out of my pussy. The other hand first at my neck, then the back of my head, fingers tangled in my messy morning hair, then full weight pressing into the small of my back so my haunches arch to meet his thrusts. Hitting my g-spot until I whine and moan and want to come and beg him to fuck me harder, like a child begging for a sweet. I used to tell him “I’m never horny in the morning” and “I doubt if you can make me come, it’s too early.” My, how things have changed.

Soon, off to Salzburg. It’s Mozart’s 250th birthday, don’t you know? Cold and snowy here…Portugal would be lovely this time of year, darling…

The divorce is getting very ugly. I’m not surprised. I’m intensely curious but when I hear the details, or just see the look on his face when he comes home after receiving an email form her or her lawyer, my stomach turns and my heart breaks just a little. Why can’t people just  be reasonable? I know this is a stupid question to ask. I know there is a lot of anger, I even understand the greed in the face of fear, but the lying and misinformation and pure fiction of some of it just blows my mind.

SHE is the one who stopped the relationship. Did she think there would be no repercussions to her actions? That he would say, yes, fuck other people, spend my money, scorn and belittle me for years and I’ll gladly continue to support you financially forever (at at the level at which you believe you deserve, and not at the level at which my income allows). She isn’t fooling anyone she knows, but the danger is she just might fool the judge. And the round and round is costing a pretty penny, and not hers.

I walked around the market today, watching the shops close down, the tourists drinking their beer, eating their pastries. Wishing you were with me. I’m lonely with you gone all day. I think about last night, and how intense the sexual bond is, now that I’m in working order again. I had almost forgotten, in my misery. You rub the lips of my labia, thumb rough on my clit, fingers dipping gently to stroke my g-spot. You fuck me deeply, slowly, my leg thrown over your shoulder, your hand clutching my breast, my mouth. My breath catches and I stop breathing, eyes closed, lost in the pleasure of it all. You pause, take my face in your hands and say, “Breathe. Look at me and breathe!” and I do. Our eyes meet, your intense gaze frightens me a little, and my deep, even breaths unlock the emotion, the profound desire, the immediacy of my need for you, and I come. You lower your head onto my chest, I lick your neck from shoulder to jawline, you mumble something, and shudder and come, too. So sweet. So close. So intimate. Moments like this make me want to be with you. (forever).