My Work, My Man Free Dating, Singles and Personals

My Work, My Man Posted: 1/13/2008 11:32:32 AM
As I drive home, the tears begin. I'm not even sure why I'm crying, although I could give a hundred reasons. I let them come, knowing they'll cleanse me and allow me to see things clearly again. For a while. Look at the speed limit sign and hit the brake. It's 4 in the morning. Cops have nothing else to do but get drunk drivers off the street and give out tickets for speeding at this time of the night. Make the final turn onto my street. Check my eyes in the mirror and wipe away the tears. Pull into the driveway, shut off the engine and retrieve my things. Sniff. Take a deep breath. Down the sidewalk. Unlock the door and walk in, locking it behind me. Tiptoe through the house quietly without turning on a light so as not to disturb him. Him. Where I need to be. Safe in his arms. The house is cold and I feel a chill as I undress at the foot of the bed. With the nightlight on, I can visualize the silhouette of his body snug under the cover. He's been sleeping for hours. He doesn't stir, and I hear his rhythmic breathing as I remove my clothes and slip into bed beside him. I give my body a moment to warm up and then move toward him, my fingertips lightly touching his warm skin. Snuggling up next to him, he makes a noise, acknowledging my presence, and his hand finds mine on his tummy as I press myself close and kiss his shoulder. "I'm home, safe and sound again, Baby." "Mmmmm...anything interesting?" "Mmmmhhhhmmm, but I'll tell you tomorrow. Sleep." His body relaxes as he falls into sleep again. I hold him as I try to shut off the reminders of the events of the evening. Close my eyes and try to sleep. It won't come. Instead, my mind rushes back to the highway and my heart feels the pain I've ignored. My eyes begin to leak again, dripping down onto his back. He squeezes my hand and lets me cry. Sob. Til I'm done. Then he quietly turns onto his back and pulls me to him, stroking my hair as if I'm a child. I AM a child. My feelings displayed for all to see, even though he's the only one who can see them. Or hear them. He holds me gently and I can hear his voice through his chest as I blubber my pain into words only partially understood. "She was so beautiful." "I held her hand." "The blood." "I know she has a mama and daddy who are devastated. I can't help." "She could be mine." "It makes me cry to see it, over and over." "And it makes me mad." "I'm scared." "I'll never know." And, finally, "Just hold me." As the tears slow, my senses are awakened by the scent of him, awakening my deepest needs, desires and fears. I need to make love to him. To feel something. Our bodies coming together. Our essence. I push myself up to kiss him, my lips trailing his, my tongue slipping into his mouth, exploring. He is receptive, as I know he will be. Holding me against him with one hand and the other finding my breast as I groan with pleasure as he caresses it gently. My hands tops his and squeezes. I have to feel! The message is clear and he pulls me to him, his lips roughly sucking my nipple, making me cry out in pain/pleasure. I can’t separate the feelings for now but I don’t need to with him. I need to feel both, and he allows me to feel what I feel, need what I need, and to share both with him. On my terms. As I can. Never a rush. He knows I’ll share what I can when I can. IF I can. His big hands move all over my body and it feels hot where he touches me. His hand slides up my leg while I cover his face and neck with hot, steamy kisses, my nipples teased by his chest hair, and my hands squeezing his biceps, stroking his chest, grasping his face between my hands. I feel myself being lifted onto him and, as he releases me, our eyes meet as I slide down on him, and the passion burns between us. Words aren’t necessary. Our bodies speak for us and mine screams out with everything I’ve felt the last 12hours. His hand takes mine and guides us to the sensation of him and me, together. His hair. The hardness of him disappearing inside me. The softness of my lips. The wetness. Our fingers searching, finding the hidden place that brings all my feelings and emotions out, that allows me to truly let go of everything inside and share it with him. I lean back to feel him deeper inside me and his hands travel up to my nipples again, finding, touching, squeezing, making me moan, and, as he pulls me forward by placing his hands on my shoulders, I look in his eyes and know that it’s safe for me to let him see me, experience me, know me. I can let the tide of emotions that are inside me spill over onto and into him. He can and will accept them. And still care. And still want me. He WANTS me to share me with him, and I’m safe in his arms with him inside me. The tears start, unleashing everything I’ve kept hidden. Looking into his eyes as the tears slide down my cheeks and onto his face as his lips grasp onto my nipple with an animalistic roar deep in his throat. Sucking with such intensity it makes me grit my teeth while I hold his head and refuse to let him stop. Crying. Feeling the pain of watching someone slide closer and closer to death. And I can’t save her. Nothing is good enough. I’ve done my best. Given all I have. The tears. The grief. Him inside me, sliding in and out. Sucking my nipples. His fingers find my sweet spot and rub in unison to his in and out motion. We cum together, not just sexually but emotionally and spiritually—we are one—with a huge gasp and tears and a final sob, finally collapsing into each other's arms. Our tears intermingle. I cried for her and for me. He cried for me. He knows me intimately. Knows my heart and my head. Embraces all that I am, as a woman and a human being. And accepts me. We rest. I can finally sleep, no longer chased by the memories. His arms surround me like a baby. And I’m safe.