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