Saturday, January 30, 2010

I Have a Dream

Dear hearts,

Piglet found this in her underwear drawer. She tells me she is not sure whether it happened or it is a dream...All I can say, is lucky Piglet.

He comes to me early. Every morning. Softly, quietly. It is at that time just after the birds have woken. When the sky is still furry with the end of the night, yet on the edge of light. Where stars are politely taking their leave, bidding adieu until the days dusk summons them back on to that beautiful arc of a southern hemisphere stage.

The little wallabies have not yet stirred. They lie in their grassy beds under the cover of the rainforest. Letting the grass grow that tiny bit more before they begin their breakfast and chew and watch. We watch each other some mornings. But that is after he has gone.

I wake well before he arrives. In the dark, I prepare myself and my body to receive him. I wash and clean and annoint. I want the temple he visits to be worthy of him. Then I drift in my mind until the door softly opens.

The room is soft and cosseting. There are no hard edges, no harsh colours. The bed is big and accepting. Full with pillows and silky Egyptian cotton. Images of the Madonna look down fully aware there will be no immaculate conception here. Her eyes are lowered, but I know she sees.

I watch as he undresses, thrilled at the shape and colour of him. The maleness of him. He is cool as he slips in beside me. Sometimes directly on top of me so that I am covered and can hide under him. Almost disappear. He knows the days that I need that. The days when I need his weight on me, before I feel him in me.

There are some mornings when all I want to do is sleep with him. Curl myself into his chest and hold his hand. Or hold his cock and balls gently until I feel them stir. I lie there thinking this is what it must feel like to wake from a whole night together. Sleeping. Reaching out in the night to connect with something, anything. A foot. The curve of his arse, so round and firm. The back of his neck to his hair line. The soft hair of under his arm. The soft skin of his inner elbow. I want to brush past it all. Then have him turn me so that he can spoon against me and I feel the curls of his chest hair against my back. His knees into the backs of mine and our ankles wrapped around each others. His hand holding my breast.

Then there are the other mornings.

In the half light our lips and tongues find their way to each other. Hands do not need the light to explore. To discover and revisit those secret places. The places that get the heart racing and the body moving, begging to be taken. It always starts so softly. A kiss, a stretch. The stretch releases the energy and at the same time ignites the energy. The circle of resist and release. Then begins that delicious spiral that makes its way to so many conclusions. The most beautiful of all dynamics where the rhythm is mad and exhilarating and your breath is taken and then given back. And we are finally lost. Together.

By now the light is brighter and it is clear the day has begun. We can see each other and look into each others eyes with love. He moves out of my bed and I pull him back. He never says no, just moves out of reach so that he can dress. I coerce him to let me feel him in his underwear. Cup him in my hand, run my teeth along his line, linger at the head. If I really want to hold him, I put my teeth on his nipples and draw them out. This is almost impossible for him to resist and I love the power I have. I am powerless at the same time, though. All we both want to do then is just lie down and start all over again.

Enjoy Piglet's dream and Sunday.

With love
Miss Mich

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Dance with me Olga

How long is a piece of string Dear hearts?,

Age old question. Brings to mind all those lovely expressions: money for old rope, string of pearls, pearl necklace (hmmm), pearls of wisdom, knit one pearl one...all right I realise I am seriously digressing now. Must be the cheeky little cleanskin and the arse end of cyclone Olga stamping her feet outside the cottage. Lots of huffing and puffing as she rains on down. It suits me tonight. I like the idea of some hard rain, thunder and lightning to get some attention.

Olga wants some attention. I love it when the sky lights up enough to show the outline of those beautiful mountains that surround us and protect us. I like the sound of the rain. No individual drops here in the far far north. No, a current that seems to just fall and hit the ground with an intensity and deliberation the shows, yes, you will receive this rain, this mess of water that has no manners. Just falls.

The thunder seems to be the faithful husband in the corner of the room, in his cardi and sensible shoes, clearing his throat, saying...”Dear, do you think it's time to go?...” Olga just looks at him, blankly, so that she doesn't crucify him then and there. She repositions the lampshade on her head and asks ever so politely could you turn the music up a little and pour me another glass of wine...

The lightning is the teenager here, in the other corner. Watching, wondering what is under Olga's skirt, catching her cleavage in his flash of light, aiming to please and catch her attention. Both of them not able to compete with the energy, the capacity, the strength of Olga and her rain.

I love the wet season. It is extreme and unpredictable and yet...predictable. I feel a part of the season. In the season and in the moment. There is no ignoring Olga or the wet. I like playing by the season's rules. I like being hot and sweaty, outside of sport. I like the idea that the weather and not anyone else, is in control.

Swell the rivers, flood the bridges, cut off the roads. Bring it on. I can wait it out. Feed the rainforest and the fauna of that community. I am happy to be a guest during the season, picking my way through the puddles, driving at granny speed around those enormous roundabouts, feeling and smelling the film of humid sweat on my body. It smells good. Watching my orchids grow at a speed unbelievable. Being conscious of everything at a level higher than at any other time of the year.

Everything is intensified. Senses are heightened. We are all so much more aware of each other – man and weather and plant and animal. We are all paying attention Dear hearts. Or so you should.

Dance with me Olga.

Back to that piece of string....How long it is depends on the nature of it...

I suspect I am getting a little esoteric, and I do not mean to be difficult, Dear hearts, but that is the inherent nature of said piece of string. Perhaps what is most important here, is how long one is prepared to imagine it may be. Expectation Dear hearts. One cannot help that.

I must speak for myself, when I say, that every wet season I have had, I always reach the point where I say to myself, I have had enough.

To Olga and past incarnations of low pressure activity's credit, it is at that critical tipping point, that the lampshade is placed back on the base, the music is turned down and the lady in her infinite wisdom, takes her leave...

Enjoy the wet.

With love
Miss Mich

Thursday, January 14, 2010

That's What I Want

Dear hearts,

I want it. I want it all. And I want it all now. I speak on behalf of myself and Piglet obvi.


Same category as Breath. You breathe it. It lives in you. I for one, will submit. It consumes me.

And why not? If one has to go, that, in my opinion, is the only way to go.

Fall back into the soft embrace of desire. Give yourself up to the grip, the bite, the intensity of desire. And be thankful.

Desire takes no prisoners. That is what I like most about it. Why it deserves the capital letter. It makes no excuses for itself. It very often has no conscience (like Piglet). It exists to serve itself. And we, Dear hearts, exist only to serve it.

It may not be the most noble of virtues. But it does not pretend to be so. Know thyself. And I think Desire does. Desire sits on the right hand of the Sybarite. Across from Bacchus. Goes to the same gym as Adonis and Venus. Hangs out with Pan and picks up hunting tips from Diana. Well connected really.

Is not Desire at the best parties? The best clubs? In the social pages of the Sunday paper…and for certain red faced politicians, the front pages of the daily papers.

Desire knows what it wants. And when it does, is focused on the prize. I realize, Dear hearts, I too am focused on talking about the prize. I too, know what I want and am determined.

Back to the topic at hand. Desire is a delicious thing to have in one’s life. It stirs the blood, stimulates the mind and the body has no choice but to follow. There is no one, and I mean no one, who has not been caught in the grip of desire. And I’m not just talking about sport.

Desire is such an individual and personal thing. It can be held tightly in one’s heart or one’s mind, never to be revealed or admitted to. The dark desire. We all have at least one dark desire. I would love to have each one of you, Dear hearts, whisper yours in my ear. I promise not to tell…

And then there are the common desires that we all share. To love and to be loved. To be successful. And for some, the desire to understand the great mysteries.

The tricky thing with the universal desire, is its potential to be unrequited. To have the big desires, such as “to be loved” on our list of things to achieve is a big ask, Dear hearts. We idealise the perfect love. We put it on that pedestal along with the perfect childhood, the perfect day, the perfect margarita…We can, however, live with the duality of Perfection v Reality. Because, Dear hearts, we can create our own perfection within our day to day reality. We can do this by the generosity of acceptance. By letting go preconceived ideas, common perceptions and embracing honestly what it is we love and giving ourselves up without condition.

Without desire we are so much the poorer, so very plain. To desire is to feel the frisson of anticipation. The thrill of what may come. Desire is a good driver. Having said that, I’m not too sure I would make Desire the designated driver on a big night out. Who knows where you may end up.

But without the uncertainty, without really knowing, without Desire…where would we be?

Small, Dear hearts, small.

Live large and enjoy the weekend.

With love
Miss Mich

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Kiss me...

Dear hearts,

Miss Mich has decided she would like to be Snow White. Not for the dwarf thing, although that could be fun if one could have them at just the right height and with those big man hands...but I digress...

No, Miss Mich would like to be Snow White so that she could have a little lie down and be woken up by the Prince's kiss. Wouldn't that be nice.

Ms White had the right idea, let me tell you. Frolicking around with seven little guys to do all the cooking, cleaning, chopping of the wood, collecting of the water etc etc...all in love with her, so complete adoration. Very nice. Admittedly, there was that unfortunate old chick, the Queen, who was extremely jealous of her youth and beauty, which of course led to the whole poison apple incident.

One must consider though, that without said poison apple incident, there would be no waking up with a kiss from the Prince. I like the idea that he came to her, Snow White able to just lie around looking good, totally relaxed. All she had to do really was make sure the mani/pedi were in good order, that she was nice and smooth everywhere else and that she had flossed before passing out. Doesn't sound too onerous to me...

There's nothing like a good kiss to bring one around though is there, or to make one feel as though one could just disappear. I'm going to give Kiss the capital letter it deserves. It is in my top ten of favourite things to do. It should be on everyone's top ten.

The importance of the Kiss cannot be underestimated. The Kiss is the first real point of intimacy when we are getting to know each other. And the first port of call generally, in most cultures when we greet each other. Miss Mich herself, loves the European kiss on both cheeks, so sophisticated, and it allows us to linger a little longer, closer to those on whom we choose to bestow our affection.

When it comes to that certain someone, the Kiss is something that I want all of you to treat as an art. I want you to give kissing the time and consideration it deserves. There is nothing more delicious that the dynamics of kissing. Piglet has been known to disgrace herself most willingly when it comes to good kissing. One can feel a certain transcendence when applied in the tantric sense and much has been written to illustrate this. I suggest you do some research.

Miss Mich remembers her first kiss. Yes she does. How lucky for her that the 16yr old boy had full lips and floppy hair that fell so sweetly on his face. How lucky that he was a soft generous kisser who took his time and was gentle and giving. I feel a slight swoon coming on, so will have to move on…

I can understand why girls of a certain profession will not kiss as part of the service they provide. It would be a little like revealing who you really are. One may be prepared to accommodate certain bodily fluids…

The kiss has many applications. One can form a pact of great significance and seal it with a kiss. How many trysts have been ended with promises and a kiss to seal the deal…you may kiss the bride…

The movie kiss must be one of the most stylized forms of acting. It has set a standard both unrealistic and yet aspirational. I love Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr rolling around on the beach in “from Here to Eternity”. I have never actually seen the film, but that scene I know so well.
And no one takes a kiss from a girl like Rhett Butler – “That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how” Take me Rhett…Take me now.

Miss Mich is getting a little light headed and way too distracted. Dreaming will not sell pens and Dear hearts, the only kissing Miss Mich should be doing is a little arse kissing…to share the pen love, obvi…

Enjoy Hump day.

With a kiss
Miss Mich

Thursday, January 7, 2010

I wouldn't get out of bed for less than...

Dear hearts,

With the new year and it’s holidays, Miss Mich has found herself in a somewhat languid routine of early morning sport, sleep ins, lunchtime sport and not much else. Having made cut backs to the cherry tomato intake, there seems so much more time in the day. If you recall our last tete et tete, you will see that is two ticks already for the MM 2010 To Do list.

I do hope Dear hearts, your list is buoyant, achievable and in clear sight on the fridge.

Motivation. Today’s most Capital Letter worthy topic. Without it, honestly, who would get out of bed? Actually, motivation can keep me in bed. But that is a side topic, obvi…

Miss Mich herself is feeling more motivated this year than any of the previous 6 or so post former life years. It is possible that Miss Mich is finally getting her shit together. Even though there may be some curly issues that will have to be taken out of the boxes they currently occupy. The boxes on the high shelves at the back of MM’s emotional cupboard. We have spoken about this before when I had misplaced my sentimentality. The very fact that I am inclined to tackle this is progress in itself.

One thing that helps all of this, that moves me along to contemplate sorting things and people, some of whom are 15 years in the box, is Optimism. And maybe readiness. Killer combo, those three.

Motivation. Optimism and Readiness.

Motivation gets you going, Optimism pushes you forward and Readiness helps you take the first step. With the bright young things all going their separate ways, it does make it easier to get going oneself. That, and perhaps the thought that one is not going forward on one’s own.

It doesn’t really matter what motivates you as long as the end result is a positive. Admittedly, revenge isn’t necessarily the best starting point. One of my most universal, reliable and enduring pieces of wisdom for all is “My success will be my best revenge”. It’s a classic. It keeps the bunnies out of the cooking pot and the knives in the kitchen drawer.

Another key point with motivation is that it must come from within. Don’t let me hear you say, Dear hearts, in a whiny self indulgent tone…”but I did it all for you…” Don’t even think about it. It doesn’t matter what it is, if you can’t want it yourself, then don’t expect anyone else to be grateful for it and fall all over you after you have sacrificed your youth for some charming yet mendacious smooth talker who promised the world, ok gave a lot of it and then brought home the pregnant 19 yr old, put her in your harbourside backyard and promised you that really, nothing has changed…hang on…I’m getting confused…but you get my point.

And the point is be motivated. Be positive and set yourself some doable goals. I realize I’m still on the New Years Bandwagon, but that’s what all the lovely downtime languishing at the cottage after all that beautiful sport allows me.

Now if only I had the motivation to get out of bed…

Enjoy Friday if nothing else.

With love
Miss Mich