Emma

Your blogger is in love dear reader. Totally, unashamedly and crazily in love. Tomorrow the Girlf and I will be together a year. A year of passion, joy, heartbreak and pain. In no other year of my life have I felt so alive, so vibrant and vital.
She dominates my waking thoughts, obsesses me. She haunts my dreams, stalking me. There’s no escaping it she enraptures me, she has captured me. I am completely hers. As she is mine.
My baby, my women, my Girlf.
This year is the culmination of half a decade. An inevitable, natural outcome from that very first moment I laid eyes on her. The first moment when she walked into my life and I fell in love.
Those eyes. Those amazing eyes. Your blogger fell there and then.
Your blogger was a bachelor back in those days. Happy with his freedom. Content with his spontaneity. He had no time for love but there it was in front of him, freckled and giggly. Gorgeous and sensual and taken.
O the woe. Taken, unavailable, she belonged to someone else. Settled and affluent in the warm bosom of her family, she was my antithesis but how I wanted her. How I needed her. How I needed her heat against me. I could feel it mere inches from me as her friend. If I got close enough I could bask in her aura. I could feel her pulsing and radiating next to me.
O how I pined for her. Pined to touch her, pined to have her sure of my ability to bring her to ecstasy. Sure of my abilities as a lover, my ability to take her to the highest heights and change her. Drag her from her mundane, domestic complacency and make her a woman.
I knew she wanted it to, without arrogance I knew her heart beat a little faster when I was around. Her temperature rose as she stood by me trying to ignore the fact. Her eyes would scan me up and down involuntarily. I’d catch her staring but I never let on.
I enjoyed the moment. I enjoyed watching her bite her lower lip, fire eyes full of lust and guilt. In those moments she was mine. Totally mine and no mortgages or family holidays or life plans could change that.
I pursued her, how I pursued her. Prose poem’s by text. Tenderness and lust mixed into a heady cocktail and sent. The endless moments waiting for the reply. Minutes feeling like hours.
Would she respond? Would she care? Was her lust real or merely a distraction of a bored housewife?
Reader I pray you never have the pain of the textual relationship, all the desire, all those words and promises without the touch. Your heart aches. You want to believe but without the concrete proof of her body against yours all the words are meaningless.
Then the guilt, the guilt that you’re corrupting her, corrupting the beauty and the innocence that attracted you in the first place.
All too obvious it became apparent she was in unchartered territory. Flattered and lustful, full of the desire for consummation but apprehensive, stood on the precipice, still safe but knowing that extra step would change everything. That extra step would change her.
How could I, I with nothing, I with my history ask her to give everything up for me? All I could offer was my passion, my flesh. Could she walk away for that? Walk away from everything for me?
Guilt and lust and text messages.
And then...stolen mornings in my bed.
Hours, that in the bubble of our passion and the secrecy of my flat, stood apart from both our realities. Hours, so beautiful and full of joy they had their own life outside of our lives.
Together we created a new existence. We created a new reality between the sheets of my bed. All consuming we stoked a fire that tortured us but at the same time ecstatically consumed us as we played our roles to the rest of the world. Our secret, our beautiful secret but in our fear, in our guilt there was no mention of love.
Then without warning she was gone.
The pillars crumbled and the roof fell in on me. My heart crushed under the cold masonry of loss and regret.
The knave gets no sympathy dear reader. The interloper gets no reassuring hand on his shoulder. He suffers his loss on his own. He keeps his tears to himself and he re-constructs his world because he is a man and a man accepts the consequences of his actions.
But the little boy is lost. The little boy pines and beats his fists on the wall. The little boy wails in his big, cold lonely bed as her scent slowly fades from its sheets.
Then fate.
Fate can not be held back. Fate can not be stopped and just when you think that chapter of your life is over and you stoically start to settle for life’s meagre offerings fate sends an earthquake that throws you off your feet and flips out of your complacency.
Cheeky, cheeky fate, with your chance encounters and your new phone numbers and all those old passions glowing quietly under the surface over the intervening years.
Fate throws you back into the fight, back into the chase and with a kiss it’s as if no time has passed at all.
My beautiful love, my beautiful, beautiful girl back in my life still confusing me, still making me feel stupid and still making me a complete man.
I love her. I love her so, so much for now, grown, we can speak of love.
I smell her on me. My fingers trace her spine from the base of her neck to the glorious cleft of her rump. All those dormant feelings, repressed, flood back. How could have I replaced her with such inadequate others? Once more I drown in those eyes. My arms are strong, powerful. This time I will not let her go. I will not!
For in this last year I have known my heart for the first time. In this last year I, for the first time, have believed in a future. For the first time I have not been killing time.
I want to watch her grow old. I want to watch her suckle my young. I want to be there to hear her sharp tongue berate me and then cool her anger with my soft words and sensual touch.
I devote my body to her pleasure. I will make all her climaxes super novas. I will destroy her in that all consuming fire and then resurrect her and she will rise, phoenix like from the furnace of our passions.
I’m hers. I will be her protector. I will be her rock. I’ll be her stability and her reassurance for when she fears I will be there. When she is cold I will warm her against me. When she is hungry I will feed her.
She is the most beautiful girl in the world and she is mine.
Now and forever.