fantasy love (ain’t nobody in the world but you & i) [18+]
Playroom — NIGHTTIME
The scene opens with me sitting in a chair, in a deep blue button-up with a black silk tie. Arms on both armrests, legs slightly spread.
ENTER: The Wife
You enter the room, beautiful as always, wearing a yellow sundress (with the occasional rose patterned across it).
I give you a once over and signal you with one hand. You walk slowly to me and settle yourself in, straddling my lap.
(you blinked and you missed it. cursing yourself as your fingers rub circles on your clit.)
We’re kissing. Softly and slowly as your arms come to rest on my shoulders…until –
(“fuck, yes, yes, yes, yes” one down, your body begins to relax until you hear my voice in your ear “did i say you could stop?”)
The scene opens on us. You sitting face-forwards on my lap, legs held open by my knees as I kiss and bite at your neck and shoulders, one hand down the front of your dress, tweaking and playing with your nipples.
My free hand slides under the bottom of your dress, slowly and gently rubbing at your clit over your underwear as you try to push your hips up to get more.
(memories come rushing at you like tsunamis, making you tremble as you cum a second time, and then a third due to me pressing on your clit; temptation is a bitch)
You moan, long, loud and sexy as all hell, as I slowly slide two fingers into you, occasionally swiping your clit with my thumb as I find the spot that makes you jerk in my arms.
The muscles in my arm tense as I plunge my fingers into and out of you, slipping in a third and feeling your back arch away from me as my other hand releases one of your nipples to grab you by your throat, slowly tightening my grip as I feel your walls flutter and tighten around my fingers.
(“fuck…” you whimper as you tremble and twitch your way through your sixth orgasm. my control snaps and before you can blink, i’m between your legs, messily cleaning between your thighs before softly coaxing you into your seventh…)
I bring my fingers slowly to your mouth and paint your lips with your honey as you sit patiently, still coming down from nirvana. I tap you gently on the thigh two times and you shift positions, curling into me and offering up (m)your mouth as I slowly suck and lick my fingers clean.
My hand finds your throat and grips it lovingly before slowly licking and sucking your essence off your top lip, I switch attention and suck at your bottom lip…delighting darkly in the soft moans and whimpers you release as I tug not-so-gently at it with my teeth.
(as the screen fades to black, we lay semi-intertwined in bed…drifting in and out of consciousness. i kiss your forehead, “i love you”, as you press a soft kiss to my collarbone, “i love you too”)
for my better half.
words are meaningless;
according to the entire human race,
it’s all about action
doing instead of saying
showing instead of telling
but you know me,
words are my forte
me speaking is me taking action
actions can be rejected, halted, hurtful
words are forever baby,
words are honest
(and you know how i love honesty)
but even so,
words are meaningless.
words are meaningless because there are over 170,000 words in the English language and not a single one of them comes close to describing the way I feel about you
across every known language
not a single word,
phrase or sentence...
there are not words to describe how completely yours i am
the future is an open landscape,
a blank slate on which i plan to write the story of us
the past is a war zone.
pieces of my heart lost in battles i know i never signed up to fight in,
my innocence given so freely to the one person in my life who deserved it the least
but the present?
the present is a myriad of emotions.
what’s left of my heart beating erratically in my chest whenever you so much as breathe
the present is
this feeling of smiling all the fucking time because you…love me
i am yours.
for as long as you’ll have me,
you’ve gotten under so much more than my skin baby
you are slowly tearing down the Fort Knox-level security walls i’ve had around my heart since i was ten…
walls i’ve been fortifying since before i knew that the word fortify even meant
you make me feel
and i don’t…
stars above woman, i don’t know how to exist in this state of…happiness
i’m not used to smiling at my phone,
or anxiously awaiting a text back,
or planning my entire future around someone i hope will be the one who stays
(hope is such a dangerous thing…
but i hope with all my fucking heart)
i’ve tossed the phrase “i’m in love” around my entire life
i’ve been falling, tripping, and face-planting into it for eighteen years
(or so i thought…)
every piece of every part of who i am
is completely and utterly in love with every piece of every part of who you are
(long story short:
i’ve had dreams about our wedding,
i apparently already have my vows written)
Timmy’s Prayer (Falling Apart)
“Some days are harder than others, but I’m okay” has become my mantra.
I think it whenever the ache threatens to swallow me, say it like a prayer whenever the hole tries to get (impossibly) bigger, wear it like armor whenever the memories bring tears to my eyes.
I don’t try to fight the feelings or the memories or the longing when they come. I take a deep breath, say my mantra a few times, and then I reassure myself that it’s perfectly fine to miss you and what we had.
You are were are the realest, the flyest, the baddest, and the best woman I have ever loved and let love me.
(I’m sorry I didn’t know how to let you love me.)
It makes perfect sense for me to miss us and you but knowing that doesn’t lessen the ache, the opposite in fact.
Knowing that it’s okay to miss us makes everything hurt in a very intense way.
I know I need to stop.
And I’ve been trying.
I don’t tweet for you as much as I used to, I don’t check your page as much as I used to.
But the trouble, I find, isn’t in the typical things people do after a break up: shading over social media, lurking, trying to distract oneself. None of those seem to be my main problem when it comes to moving on from us.
No. My primary issue is this:
I spent so much time thinking about our future that it’s still hard to try and think about my future. I still catch myself factoring you into my plans from time to time....oh she wouldn’t like the climate of that place...still catch myself lost in visions of us living sappily ever after.
But like I said, I’m trying.
I gently guide my mind away and if needed, I let “If I’m James Dean” by SWS blast at full volume in my mindscape and it completely resets my thought process.
Sometimes I want to stop writing to you but I know that if I stop letting everything out in these notes then none of it will feel real and I will be sent spiraling back to the start and I’ve made so much progress, right?
I cry a lot less than I used to.
I still haven’t cried about you not wishing me a happy birthday, and I’m a little scared that I might not ever get around to it.
So many parts of me do not want to accept that this is over, but the majority are dragging them by the hair as they kick and sob and rage in an attempt to rid themselves of at least a smidgen of the pain caused by your absence.
So many parts of me do not want to accept that I’ve lost you for good but I know (I hope) this is for the best.
Shot For Me (please stop writing about her)
So much that it leaves me lost for words.
(If these aren’t words, what are they?
These are pieces of the pain that follows me everywhere I go for as long as I am conscious. These are the remnants of a love that I wasn’t meant to hold on to, the remnants of a love that I wish I didn’t still want to die to bring back to life.)
The voice is still there.
I miss her.
I always tell him the same thing: “I miss her too, and that’s okay. But we have to let her go.”
It never hurts any less.
I am trying to think in better, more powerful terms.
I did not lose you, we were simply meant to collide and fall away. Could I have done things differently? Yes. If I could go back and fix all my mistakes, be more aware of you and your feelings and your needs and wants, would I? Of course. But, do I still wish you back to me? No. It’s hard as hell, but no.
I’m shaking, writing this.
The voice comes in the still moments.
When I’m surrounded by people and everything is calm, low conversations and good music, he sobs with no restraint from the glaring hole next to us where you should be; when I’m out shopping, even if I don’t see anything that reminds me of you, as I’m moving from store to store he whines, hearing your voice commenting on everything around us; when I’m at work, he yells and screams and rages in all the ways I want to do, ache intensifying every time something happens that we can’t tell you about.
Missing you is a ghost I have learned to live with but being by myself is still hard.
Not always, but enough to make a difference.
Everything I do when it’s just me manages to remind me of you and some times are harder to ignore than others.
When I’m listening to my music there are: songs I skip instantly because they remind me of you as soon as they start, songs I skip halfway through because something was said that made me either think of you or made me think of something that lead me to thinking of you, songs I let play and force myself not to cry to because they are beautiful songs and I know I shouldn’t let our ending sour them for me, and songs I cry to when I’m out walking in the middle of the night to get away from the need to call you or text you or drive or run to you.
When I’m reading I want to recommend books to you.
When I’m watching tv or movies I want to tell you about the crazy shit that people be doing and how it could never be me and I want you to go look the show up without telling me about it and then watch a bit of it and end up falling in love with it the same way I did.
When I’m playing games on my phone, I hear your voice from some conversation we were having saying “I forgot you have games on your phone like a damn child” and I want to delete every game I have and throw my phone in a river and jump in after it with my mouth wide open, taking a deep breath as soon as the water gets in my mouth so it’s over quicker.
When I’m eating I want to tell you about it, just to get your opinion on my “horrible” tastebuds because you’re one to fucking talk.
Some days are worse than others—
but that doesn’t mean that there are any easy days.
I think you’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met and it’s insane to me that I don’t know you as well as I want to.
It makes sense: you’re a very private person. To be accepted into your heart and life with open arms is more than enough for me, I’m just very curious about you.
I’ve just always been very curious about you, Ms. Daniels.
I felt your energy touch mine the first time we met and then that accent of yours came out and I was done for.
Then I remember you laughed this very loud laugh at one point, and I was a complete goner.
There was...I’m a bit in love with you, if I’m being honest, which I am.
It’s a thing that happened so slowly I didn’t even realize it until that day we went to PG Plaza? I remember looking at you and knowing I was screwed, knowing I was in over my head, thinking “oh shit, that’s what that feeling is when I think about seeing her? I’m going to literally die.”
You’re absolutely wonderful. I’ve met a lot of people and you are definitely one of the best of the best.
Have you seen yourself walk? Head held high, shoulders back, crown sitting pretty on that big ass head of yours; shining as bright as your smile, a constant reminder to all that you are not to be fucked with.
Have you had a conversation with yourself? All rapid hand gestures and uncontrollable facial expressions, looking into your eyes and seeing that flame of passion you hide from the world. Listening to you go on and on and on, smile on my face because your voice is damn lovely.
Have you been hugged by you? Loved by you? No, I suppose you haven’t.
I’m sorry for that, that’s a tragedy.
You give wonderful hugs and your love is honestly like a warm blanket and a mug of perfectly made hot chocolate.
I miss you, Dani.
...a lot more than I even realized, which is saying something.
“let’s make the moon blush” (18+)
Fuck that. Let’s make the sun blush.
The moon, she sees all the late night horrors and adventures but the sun? He sees everything else.
The dastardly deeds done in the daytime.
Quickies in the office with the secretary, your wedding ring biting into your palm as you pound her into your desk. Dapping up the dealer, people copping their daily fix as the sun beams down on them, always watching.
Let’s make the sun blush, baby.
Let’s make love so sappy sweet so wicked wild so sloppy slow that the sun blushes and sets everything in the universe aflame.
Let’s tangle together until we forget to remember that we are not the same person, not one entity, not one being.
Let’s collide, let stardust release into the air around us, let planets explode in the distance, let stars burst into supernovas and turn into black holes.
Let it all end.
Let you and I come together cum together over and over again in an explosion of lust and passion and frenzied need.
Let the storms rage, let the skies cry, let the world flood, let time pass us by.
Let the world end completely,
I do not care.
As long as you
Let me taste you.
Let me taste you when the sun is high in the sky, when the moon and the stars shine too bright.
Let me taste you when the world is at war, when they scream in the streets for peace, as you writhe around in my bed, begging for release.
Let me taste you, devour you until I am full and then let me (make you cum) come back for seconds and thirds and sixths and eighths.
Let me eat you alive.
Let me eat you until it feels so good your heart gives out and you die, and then let me bring you back to life.
Let me make you see white, fireworks exploding behind your eyes, head thrown back, body arched to the sky.
Let me make you (cum)—
Let me throw you to the edge and drag you back by your throat.
Let me dangle you over the abyss for eternity...
and then let me drop you into it with your only anchor being my hand in yours.
Let me, let me, let me...make you the star of all my wildest dreams.
Let me bend you backwards, eat you sideways, make your mind break.
Let me ease your sorrows, erase your troubles, make your world change.
Let me show you colors that don’t have names, flickering behind your closed eyelids.
Let me play you like an instrument: kiss you here, bite you there; flick my tongue here, grab you to bruise there.
Let me learn the way that every inch of you tastes, hold you down and take my fill.
Let me commit you to my terrible memory and have to start all over again because you called me Daddy and I lost the mental picture I was painting with my tongue.
Let me sink my teeth into you as I plunge my fingers into you, soaking my bedsheets and staining my mind forever.
Let me mark you, bite you suck you leave you purple blue angry red claimed in the way my base instincts scream for.
Let me make you scream because it’s so much it’s almost too much but it’s almost—there, your mind is blank, my face is soaked, satisfaction.
Let me make you cry, tears streaming body heaving, sobbing because it’s too much but you want to be good for me have to be good for me always so good for me.
Let me wake you in the best way I know how: head with a side of breakfast in bed.
Fuck making the moon blush, nothing we do should be new to her.
But the sun? Let us love make love fuck live exist in such a state of contentment that he blushes from envy, from anger, from a paralyzing rage that should be inaccessible to such a powerful being.
Let us anger the sun, my love.
You and I.
Valentine (a letter before my suicide)
It’s February 14th and I think I owe you a poem.
I think I owe you a poem about the way you make my heart beat erratic rhythms in my chest…
I think I owe you a poem about how my face lights up when I see a text from you.
I think I owe you a poem about all the sappy things you make me feel…
But I also feel as though I owe you a poem about the bad things.
I feel as though I owe you a poem about the way you frustrate me with your inability to just talk to me and complete refusal to pay me the same attention you demand so readily from me.
And, oh my stars. Don’t get me started on that.
I feel as though I owe you a poem about the way you demand attention you don’t show me. Isn’t a ‘relationship’ supposed to be equal?
(Secret: I’m reciprocal. You get what you give. It’s just unconsciously how I am.)
I feel as though I owe you a poem about how I feel as though you’re still fucking talking to that fucking asshole while he’s in jail and I swear to fucking god I will destroy you.
I feel like I owe you a poem describing how much I hate how far I’ve convinced myself that I’ve fallen for you when I know I haven’t the slightest care about anything that has to do with you or anything you stand for.
I feel like I owe you a poem for how much I hate that my brain wants my heart to skip a beat when you text me even though my heart is absolutely disgusted by you.
I felt as if I should give you a poem that shows the vast difference in the feelings I have for you.
Sensual Lover (A Confession)
I, at the tender age of seventeen, have found myself to be a…sensual lover.
Mind you, I don't mean sensual in the sexy sense. I mean sensual in the way of…intimacy.
The sensual acts that are amazing when executed properly.
The things I crave doing with you…
(Every voice in my head at once, "Here you go again…")
I never set out to write about you, you always blindside my mind…sneaking in and invading all my thoughts in that…way you have.
Speaking of having…can I have you? Can I taste you, touch you, love you? For as long as we both shall live or even just for a night?
It's the wondering that makes this hard.
Wondering about the way you'd feel against me, cuddled up around and into me, just living in that moment with me…
(Did I mention that the image of you with him haunts my every waking hour?)
Wondering about how you'd sound moaning, screaming, sighing my name…about how you'd feel, how you'd taste.
Wondering about waking up to you…about calling you mine…about being your "my bae, best bae"
Wondering if you love me…
You say you do…and every piece of me wants to give in and believe you but I know that you don't, know that you'd never hurt someone you love the way you've hurt me.
You are my stream of consciousness, these days my every thought is about you…
And everyone wants me to be strong…wants me to just let go as if loving you hasn't been the only thing keeping me sane these past four years…
They want me to shout "fuck her" from the rooftops and some days I'm so tempted to do exactly that that I could go insane…
But you're you…and even at your bitchiest, you've always been enough for me
Screw that, you'll always be enough for me
And so it's by loving you that I (at the age of seventeen years, three months, and four days) have gone completely insane.
Is there a scale of insanity? One to ten? A newborn baby to someone like Jeffrey Dahmer?
(If that's the case, Jeff and I are the closest of friends…)
I don't want to do anything anymore.
I don’t want to live, I don’t want to breathe, I don’t even want to exist
I just want you to love me.
I keep trying to write about you — but nothing comes out right.
Words crash into each other, jumbling and tangling themselves into distortion.
You confuse me,
render me speechless.
You terrify me,
astound me —
leave me shaken.
Thinking about you opens up the floodgates, lets loose memories I didn't think I'd ever want to remember.
The feel of you:
wrapped around me,
curled in my lap.
Your laugh, your smile, your voice.
If this, once again, ends in tragedy — I think it will have been well worth knowing you.
Can I admit something? If only because I need to say it? If only because you need to hear it and know that it's true?
I love you.
And this love? It scares me.
Talking to someone, being with someone? It's never been this easy for me.
You came into my life with a bang, shaking up my beliefs and my view of the world…
(and then you somehow snuck into my heart like a thief in the night)
As I write this, I'm missing you.
It's been awhile, hasn't it? Awhile since I saw you. Awhile since I touched you…awhile since I held you.
Awhile since I kissed you.
I know that none of this matters, that none of it can matter — not while you're with him.
But you're mine — at least, that's what my heart says.
My heart has never been the smartest part of me…
You aren't mine. You're…his.
At least, until you get tired of him and run back to me (again.)
Me, then him, then me, then him. You switch between us with the kind of constant back and forth that only someone who truly doesn't know what they want can accomplish.
And I let you.
Oh, my love. Why do I let you?
For Kamille (With a K)
with a mind as deep as the ocean,
and a heart that loves every guest that enters its chambers as if they could be the last.
intriguing, fascinating, captivating.
Eyes the color of chocolate, skin a shade that has yet to be named (not cinnamon, or caramel; mocha, maybe?)
Who hurt you, I wonder. But I'll never ask about the ghosts I see in your eyes; secrets that cast shadows in those deep, mesmerizing pools of chocolate, making me wonder and ponder…
loud, animated, wild.
The kind of laugh that could silence the demons in the mind of any man (or woman, here's hoping), the kind of smile that could stop a war paired with the kind of body, heart, and mind that could start it right back up again.
absolutely and unequivocally,