Thursday, January 06, 2005
Missing him...
While meeting one of my best friends yesterday, I managed to gain posession of a (- pirated! Call the cops!) CD featuring Latin American music. Listening to it intently on my long drive home I again came to the realization how erotic of a language Spanish is. Sung, spoken, whispered... it makes no difference. It's like French, only better.
And along with that epiphany (- which hits my quite regularly, actually), came this huge surge of missing The Fiancé even more than I already do. Listening to the language that he grew up with, there all by myself in the car, speeding through a darkness so much deeper than I am now used to when driving through the nightly Los Angeles, somehow brought me a bit closer to him in my mind... and that of course brought images and memories of him whispering Spanish into my ear while looking at me intently with passionate burning dark eyes, holding my gaze with his, holding me close in a way that is both tender but also leaving not the slightest doubt that resistance of any kind is pointless, letting his large hands wander across my body, melting my resistance away with every softly whispered Spanish word of love and passion, his hot breath brushing against my skin.
Not a good thing to think of while pushing my little old city car to its velocity limits of 150 kilometers per hour on the empty and pitch-dark freeway. Also not a good thing to think of when even the thought of the light physical activity of masturbation lets me cringe with pain, after two days of more sports and pushing my body than I usually do in a whole year. And especially not a good thing to think of sleeping on my parents' couch in their living room.
As you can tell... my deprivation is reaching its limits. I have never been away from him for longer than 2 weeks, and I am hitting the 2-week-mark as I am typing. In my current state of mind, I wonder why sometimes he even has to resort to whispering Spanish to me. His last straw, the last thing he can resort to when all else has failed to get what he wants. To get what I now want more than anything else.
Right now he wouldn't have to trick me into wanting sex by showing off the seductive clichée Latin Lover. Right now he'd just have to touch me anywhere on my body with nothing more than his fingertip for no longer than one second, and he'd have me ready and moaning with pleasure beneath him.
One week and three days to go...
And along with that epiphany (- which hits my quite regularly, actually), came this huge surge of missing The Fiancé even more than I already do. Listening to the language that he grew up with, there all by myself in the car, speeding through a darkness so much deeper than I am now used to when driving through the nightly Los Angeles, somehow brought me a bit closer to him in my mind... and that of course brought images and memories of him whispering Spanish into my ear while looking at me intently with passionate burning dark eyes, holding my gaze with his, holding me close in a way that is both tender but also leaving not the slightest doubt that resistance of any kind is pointless, letting his large hands wander across my body, melting my resistance away with every softly whispered Spanish word of love and passion, his hot breath brushing against my skin.
Not a good thing to think of while pushing my little old city car to its velocity limits of 150 kilometers per hour on the empty and pitch-dark freeway. Also not a good thing to think of when even the thought of the light physical activity of masturbation lets me cringe with pain, after two days of more sports and pushing my body than I usually do in a whole year. And especially not a good thing to think of sleeping on my parents' couch in their living room.
As you can tell... my deprivation is reaching its limits. I have never been away from him for longer than 2 weeks, and I am hitting the 2-week-mark as I am typing. In my current state of mind, I wonder why sometimes he even has to resort to whispering Spanish to me. His last straw, the last thing he can resort to when all else has failed to get what he wants. To get what I now want more than anything else.
Right now he wouldn't have to trick me into wanting sex by showing off the seductive clichée Latin Lover. Right now he'd just have to touch me anywhere on my body with nothing more than his fingertip for no longer than one second, and he'd have me ready and moaning with pleasure beneath him.
One week and three days to go...
