Wednesday…as most days these days…oh so great and oh so wretched. So funny how that works. Heh…
James is officially free of his obligations here in town. Technically speaking, he could have hopped on the next bus out Wednesday afternoon but he remains out of want. His boss needs three weeks instead of the two James had tried to give him (for the second time now – ‘no, I’m really really leaving this time…’)
I am slightly worried that, because he’s staying, he risks something else ‘coming up.’ I love/hate that I have him for another two weeks – was devastated looking upon this one as the last – but an awful lot can happen between now and then. I’m watching my thoughts, though. He said it best, yesterday I think. The US is like a jealous bitch. He cheated on her with the Islands so she’s set about fucking him over.
Anyway, I went to his house early Wednesday morning and curled up against his back while he dozed. Mornings like this are…interesting. Usually, I’ve been up since about 7 (a solid 2 hours) and, last year before I cut way back, long since begun the process of nursing a travel mug of coffee. As much as I may love the idea of curling up and going back to sleep after getting the kid to school – especially with him! – it doesn’t work out that way unless I’d just left his side a lil before (or even at) sunrise to get the kid off to school in the first place.
For starters, the coffee’d kicked in. I figured that played a much more major role than it actually does, though, ’cause I’d only taken maybe a sip this particular morning, having brought the coffee to get me through after I woke up from what I was bound and determined would be my nap. Nope.
‘Cause, see, there’s this other phenomena that comes into play. I can be all cool, calm, collected, and feeling ready to be dead to the world all the way to the point when I enter whatever room he’s in. Even if he’s asleep, mind you, I get this little rush that hits when I open the door (or move the sheet, heh) and rises like a wave, to crest when I curl against him. Endorphins, I guess? -snicker- Now this actually happens every. single. time. I see him but if there are people around, it’s a lot shorter-lived because my focus has to go elsewhere. Behind closed doors, though?
…
It’s like I’m hyper-sensitive. My eyes are closed, unless I happen to be sneaking a peek at him, so my other senses – and my brain – are suddenly in overdrive. Most mornings, to start, my mind is on his cock. I contemplate waking him but never turn it into action unless he has to be up – and even then, it’s after I’ve had my fill of snuggling. I lay there, instead, lost in his scent, enjoying the feel of him against me (especially if he’s nekid!), and entranced by his breath and/or heartbeat. Until he fidgets. Bless him – I love bein able to pick on him for it! Once he’s moved, my mind’s back on his cock – especially if he’s pressed against me. My ass cheeks have involuntary spasms. As soon as he’s stilled and I’ve decided (again) not to wake him, I’m back to being adrift in his heat.
My brain goes into free-range mode where any number of things can and will fly through my head at amazing rates of speed. From one tangent to another, off where it may and back again. Other times, I can focus solely on one thought and examine it from all sorts of angles, making notes of things I need to try to remember. I’ve written entries for this place a time or two, even if I only actually remember snippets to put here and have to fill in the gaps. LOL There are even times I’m able spread my wings and tail. Those are fun. Strangely enough (as if the wings/tail aren’t strange, right?), I spend a lot of time talking to James, too. Man, all I can say is if we were telepathic…he’d be in for a treat. Osmosis at its best.
All these words build up and flow around my head, kinda like a whirlpool, and I just direct them at him and let them go. Wednesday, I was talking. A lot. I was saying everything I could possibly think of that I’ve wanted to say but can’t. I don’t remember, exactly, the phrase that triggered it but it was something along the lines of how he’d touched me more deeply than anyone else and there’s no replacing that. From there, there was a flash back to my Esteban tween times and the holes he left in me during his absence. The next thought was akin to James coming in and digging around in those holes with a bulldozer. He’s filled these spots amazingly well over the last couple of years, to the point they’ve had no choice but to expand to accommodate. Not to mention he manages to fill all the holes Esteban missed with such great ease. But when he leaves…
The mere thought of trying to replace him was enough to make it feel as though there was a vice grip around my throat. Even as I write this…
I dared not hope I’d have a breakdown so I wasn’t disappointed. The tears flowed silently and I shifted so they wouldn’t wet his t-shirt. Everything was dandy until my nose started running. That, I think, woke him up. The second good sniffle sealed my fate. He stirred too much so I rolled over, facing away from him, and set about trying to contain myself. Try as I might, because I knew I’d been busted, things got a little worse. I wanted to sob so badly but I couldn’t do it. I tried to still myself, holding my breath hoping maybe he’d drift back off, but that only made me vibrate right under where his hand came to rest when he turned to curl against me. He rubbed my back a bit, asking if I was alright, and that opened the gates. I told him I’d be alright and made a joke about it being my turn, wishing instead I could tell him that thought. He told me he was waiting until next week to be a wreck. I told him I’d probably be one off and on until he’s gone. (Failed to mention ‘well after,’ too.)
He tried to make light of things, saying at least he wasn’t back in the islands. I sniffed and rolled over to face him. As I tucked myself into his chest, I could barely contain myself as the next sentence clawed its way up my throat and past my lips.
At least then I knew you had to come back…
He says he has to come back again, for his things, but he’s also said that there’s not a whole hell of a lot that is necessary. Aside from his equipment and a few various mementos he’s collected over the years…-shrug- Just clothes, shoes, and house things he won’t have use for. Even if he does end up getting it, Doc will be heading up north next month…
And, really, it’s not a question of whether or not I’ll see him again. It’s what’s going to happen after he’s gone.
Me, personally…I’ve accepted my fate, especially with as quickly as I’m managing to work my way through the one thing that is the hardest for me to do. I am – and have been – his. Up until the point I found out he fucked Swimfan, I had absolutely no doubt in my mind that things would work out, that things would be okay. Now, though, not only am I faced with working through the insecurity of me not being ‘enough’ for him while he was here and the resulting jealousy where she’s concerned – I honestly have no idea what to expect of his actions once he’s gone. My ‘fit’ the other night was a result of my thinking he’s handling me and shows me that there is still a serious lack of trust. That, in itself, hurts. I hate that I don’t trust him even when I know – on a logical level – that what we have is genuine. This is why I can’t wait for him to leave. At first, it was for the ‘safety’ in knowing she couldn’t get her hands on him, so maybe I’d have time to process (before he got stuck here and fucked that all up). Now it’s because I’m tired of even having to work through it all and I’m angry that he’s the one putting me through it. It’s draining me.
I’m faced with the situation where I have to let him go and will have no idea of what is or isn’t going on in his life outside what he tells me – which he’s even admitted isn’t near as much as I would like to know.
The still very bitter and hurt part of me fully expects him to start fucking anything that moves. Another slightly more logical part of me says I should just be safe and assume that anyway to save myself from being hurt. Right on the heels of that one, another one says that’d be a bad idea, especially if he isn’t and doesn’t and that one’s supporter chimes in with a little bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, he’s as invested in what we have as much as I and is just as despairing at the thought of living without me and harbors plans to return as soon as humanly possible. The supremely logical voice wonders why the fuck any of it matters when there is no ‘relationship’ thus no need to worry about such matters to begin with and starts the whole process all over again. And again. And again.
The one thing I told him – long ago – was to keep the sacred at home. I cared not what he did to entertain his fans and groupies so long as it wasn’t intimate in any way shape or form – mental or physical. I had no doubts about said actions because I knew where he was at the end of the night – mentally and physically. Now I question everything, including his feelings for me. While I’m thankful I’m facing the struggle while I can still get my hands on him, this really isn’t the time for all that and later on will only be worse. I have only one idea on how to start to solve that particular problem and I really dread doing it….
Ctrl+P…
…off to prepare my doom…