The Intimate Details of...

A reflection of each other's strengths. Ever watchful. Ever mindful of her needs. Her submission given. Not taken.

She is his pride. His alone to defend. He acknowledges her strengths and fortifies her weaknesses.

She is one half of the whole.

He is her other half.

The one she looks to when she is unsure and wary. The one she knows will lead her when needed. He is the one that embraces her prowess and melds it with his own.

"Forever" isn’t forged in the extremes. It doesn't live in the fevered peaks of passion, nor is it found in the rhythmic hum of the daily grind.

​Instead, it is born in the quiet spaces in between.

It is nutured in the soft exhale of a shared morning and the wordless weight of a single glance.

It is felt in ​a featherlight touch, echoing a memory of a different time and place.

It is the silent communication that persists even when the world finally falls still.

Lust is fleeting.

"Love" has lost meaning.

Intimacy binds them together.

~ Sin

I like this....much wisdom in the words. May you find what you are looking for.

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Breathless moments suspended in time.

Intense. Barely controllable.

A fiery pursuit of sensation. Things discovered between hushed whispers, while the outside world slips away under the cloak of darkness.

Dawn, not yet a promise, the veil of night wavers with a lingering and unquenchable thirst for more.

Satiation. Temporarily given, while the last fragments of spent passion burn away with the morning light.

Connection. Fueled by the remembered threads of mutual satisfaction.

Passion. A respite from the mundane. Fueling our purpose while awaiting the moment it will renew us once again.

A restless man has yet to conquer his demons.

In the quiet silence of privacy they whisper loudly.

No longer dampened by the din of social niceties and performance, his temporary hold of control and power evaporates like a waning mist.

His reflection more telling than words.

It was nothing more than a momentary ruse. One he indulged in, with the hopes that this time would be different.

He rode the high. The thrill of the chase. But it left him hollow.

He was careful in his selection, or so he thought. His actions measured, as if by rote. Had it truly come to this? The predictability. The tedium. The restlessness.

Honed over the years, he was the Master of his craft. He took pride in weaving the threads of pleasure he gifted, granting them mutual satisfaction.

But, no more. He does not leave them wanting, but he takes no lasting satisfaction from it.

His mind rolls back to another time and another face. A place he measures all else from. Regret etched deeply into the corners of his eyes. The demons whisper ever more loudly there.

Fear has become his enemy, though he does not admit it aloud. Fear, that as the years pass, he has not found contentment in his life. Fear over loss and loneliness, heartache and sorrow, and things beyond his control. Fear of letting go of the things that whisper in the dark recesses of his mind. For if the demons no longer whisper, then who will speak into the silence?

Every time I take another turn around the sun, I remind myself the importance of self love and appreciation.

Appreciation for the body I was given. It has served me well through all it's transformations. Even when I have taken it for granted and not treated it with the respect I should have.

It has seen been subjected to pain and injury, excessive weight and unhealthy thinness, times of strength and of weakness, and the joy of children, both born and lost.

As an "early bloomer", it received the unwanted passing gropes of immature adolescent boys, that thought it was acceptable to freely shame and embarrass a young girl for a quick thrill, touch or dare.

It has endured the unwanted advances of lecherous old men, who thought it was acceptable to accost girls and young women for their own pleasure.

Through the awkward stages of embarrassing moments and self-doubt, pubescent angst and emerging womanhood, it has stood by me, a constant sentinel of support.

It has seen me through hard work, pushing limits that most women do not attempt, and times of ease when I gave myself permission to relax and do nothing more than to put up my feet.

Over time, I have learned to enjoy the freedom of the sensual pleasures it has afforded me and my partners, and learned to love it all the more.

But mostly, I have learned to love it, and myself, for all the things that it has given me, regardless of what stage it is in or what I see in the mirror. I see the aging body of a life well lived, and the ability to be more than just the vessel of anyone else's wants and desires but my own.

As I finish this decade of my life, I embrace a new era of finding comfort in one's own skin. Albeit hard won, the resiliency, strength, courage, fortitude and wisdom I've grown into, is more beautiful than anything that can be reflected in a mirror.