Wander I Go
I had a whole afternoon to myself. No one around to interrupt me. I can’t remember the last time that happened and I was in the mood for some personal playtime. And so I wanted to make the utmost of the situation.
Another week and another three days I had spent gallivanting away from my lovely man. Darned work taking me away from Mister.
It was a tiring, exhausting first half of the week in which I didn’t get much sleep on Tuesday night. Not for the right reasons either. Grr. (Ah..vague references to my super secret work identity). But return I did on Wednesday afternoon back to Mister’s loving arms. He carried the heavy heavy bag in those loving arms. Unfortunately I was unable to jump him as I had been dying to do right there and then as he had to depart for Band Practice in the next city. So I had to compensate. I showered and promptly took myself to bed to catch up on sleep.
Only despite my fraught and tired state, I was ultimately and undeniably very aroused. Sleep was not on the cards at that moment. More pressing matters needed to be addressed. We had not had sex for over a week and a half – when you are there living with your partner and you know you have regular access to sex, when you don’t have it, you miss it as much as when you live apart. Believe me. It had been the Monthly Visit and prior to that we went through a few days without and so I had spent most of the previous, sleepless night thinking about what I would do to Mister upon my return. What he would do to me. What we would do together. I keep in my mind’s eye a montage of images that keep me warm on cold nights. Usually saved for when we are apart, or if I have that private, alone time to myself. These began to stream through my head now. More a series of close-ups and long shots, really. It seems porn has affected my style of fantasising.
It usually begins with the two of us in the bedroom, or even when I give myself more time to construct a narrative, us meeting somewhere. We’ve been apart and this is the moment of our reunion. We catch eachother’s glance from across the room. Immediately, that fire rekindles and blazes anew. The butterflies float a little higher.
If the montage begins in the bedroom, it is me who takes the lead. He is already on the bed, waiting for me as I enter to look down at him – the visual dynamic already suggests that I will be calling the shots. But if we meet anywhere else, somewhere public, it is he who take the initiative, he walks over to me, pulls me into him making me elicit a slight gasp. If there is a wall, no doubt I imagine he pushes me back against it and stares deeply into my eyes with those penetrating blue eyes he possesses. The element of exhibitionism, the lack of care of who sees us, thrills me, excites me. In reality, he is generally restrained in public, but if we are at a location where we know there is no-one around we recognise, surrounded by strangers, then his dominant side will shine through.
These images, these stirrings of feeling, sensation, the thrills bubbles up inside me as I delve into my sensual thoughts. I never fantasise about anyone else but him and me (and the occasional faceless lady if that’s the fantasy I’m after). He is what gets me off, no-one else specifically really. What we do together and the possibilities of what we could do together in the future, the next time we fuck, gets me off. That ghosting memory of the first thrust he presses into me. The gasp it makes me emit every time. Not to bookend sex, but the first thrust and the final climax are two highpoints for me of equal merit.
I lost myself that afternoon this week. I had my toys, the favourite buzzing bullet that never leaves my bedside table as well as a few extras and the anal toy. I am still trying to push myself in that particular area and by God I came hard using that along with the bullet. I always smile to myself when I end up moaning and writhing and swearing under my own hand.
Mister came home a few hours later and found me curled up in the linen, hair fuzzed around my head slightly. He was mildly surprised to find me naked under the covers and soon joined me. I was still wet from my own excursions and gladly welcomed his hands to seek out that fact. After nearly two weeks without him inside me, I don’t think wild horses would have prevented me from screwing that man.
As we lay together after some tension-relieving, homecoming-reunion sex, holding me to him, he told me he had missed me.
No words needed to be said after that. Not for a long time. So we just lay there, drifting.
Homecoming
Three days.
Nothing compared to what we have endured. Nothing to the month without contact. Nothing compared to the distance in time others have spent apart and others still do. It felt at times like a chasm filled with minutes, to be without him. Bereft of Mister. Lacking.
All I did was go on a little trip to London. Silly, really.
I wonder. Should I really be feeling so rent in two? That invisible tie he has over me pulling, fraying by a fibre. Is it healthy that I should be so completely unmade by this being apart from him?
Then I consider.
The times that this emotion of heartache were only fleeting. A heartbeat of pain. Then I returned to normal. A swift pang of loss, and then all was well. I guess that’s alright? I don’t know. I haven’t been in love before.
This was never in the books. I’ve never read of this…this tearing sensation that like a rip in fabric, is sharp, quick and over in a flash. Searing. Cauterising? I go too far.
Three days. The quiet moments were hardest. Naturally. Travelling, no. Commuting – I was in London, after all – on trains, underground, the buses. Noise and bustling all around me. I alone, like everyone else there, thoughts stray to think of places anywhere you are not currently trapped. The countryside, home. Home where Mister is. London, for all the millions, is a lonely city for me. I could never live there. The poetry of TS Eliot and Blake spring to mind when I think of London, not Wordsworth or someone more salutary. Even in the beautiful sun we had there. Stifling in under the ground. And above it – I wanted to see the green and pleasant land, not just the clear blue sky.
Homesickness may have set in a little. Don’t get me wrong, the country mouse enjoyed her visit greatly; she visited the sights, she was quite pleased when she managed to get from A to B without getting lost once. An excursion, but not her way of life. My complete respect to those who live for the city and with it. I feel like I am fighting against it.
So to home. To Mister. He picked my up from our tiny local station with its two platforms. No waiting room. Not even a ticket office. Just two parallel plinths of concrete and some ancient wooden shelters. This is home. Simple, imperfect with my man waiting for me. It was 11.30 at night and I was ready for him, bed and sleep.
I fell into bed, he soon followed. I watched as he undressed. That sight of his topless torso and in only his jeans. My weakness. He dived in under the covers and found me, warm from my previous few minutes cuddled into the linen. It was all I wanted, needed, desired. His hands and arms sought out my frame and this was it. This was what I missed.
He pulled me into him.
Close to his body. I felt his warmth again. Him inhaling my scent in my hair. Clutching me closer with his inhale, loosening with his exhale.
Wherever that simple action is, that is Home.
With him.
This is Desire
I am a girl on edge. It is becoming clearer and clearer to me that I need him. I want him. I want his eyes to gaze at me, burning over my skin. I need him to hold me, not tenderly, but forcefully. Like in the movies – girl turns to walk away and is grabbed and swung round into passionate embrace.
Desire. It eats away at me. It’s all fine to have our distance from one another, but when it comes to the essential being of me, I need to have him. Possessive? Dependent? I don’t know. All I know is how I feel and I feel ablaze. I feel my blood running through my body, feel it coursing its way from my heart, down through the flutterings of my stomach centering at my pussy and further down to make my toes tingle. All that at the single, instant thought of him. They say that when a girl is aroused her mouth darkens subtly, making them even more sensitive to touch. No wonder it makes me jump so when he lightly traces his fingertip over my lips.
I want to have him to myself, alone in our place. No distractions. Silence. Just him and me together left to our own minds’ fantasies, our dreams. Nightmares? I need to have all the time it takes to look over him, from the tips of his hair downwards. The time to drink him in with my own eyes.
Away from eachother for only a day or two, a mere matter of hours in fact, and this desperation to have him is ridiculous. Goodness knows how I coped when it was three, four, five weeks apart. The knowledge that the time is fast approaching when we will be under one another’s feet all the time is making the experience of distance unbearable. I fidget. Unable to be still – one of my bad habits. fingers always twitching. Nerves? Worries? Guilty conscience? When I am with him I am able to be still. To be calm. Placid. His soothing nature radiates around me, reflecting into myself and it rubs off on me.
I see him in a few hours’ time. Can I last that long without that exploding feeling to return? I’ll have to wait. Bide my time. The spider waiting. Patience is a virtue. Rest your soul in patience, Pandorah! Yes.
[Is it me or am I putting too many subtle references in my posts? This one contains at least three: One to a book, another to a play and a third to a song. Answers on a comment card if you know any of them. Win an E-Cookie]
I’ve Missed You…
Walking home in the rain – alas, no outdoor kisses today, it’s not quite the right time just yet – my excitement must have been palpable to him.
We had spent the evening in the company of some of my raucous sisters and their partners, giggling away at an adult version of Trivial Pursuit. Quite educational, actually. You’d think the plural of penis would be either peni or penises, but no – it is actually penes. See. Educational. I’ve also come away with a new word to use in my next slanging match. Ladies – don’t be flattered if you are called a drazel. Unless you go in for that kind of talk.
I thought I would dress relatively nicely, and rather than the usual jeans, jumper get up I would wear – tis family, they don’t care what I look like, as long as I’m having a nice time – I chose one of my preferred skirts and purple top thing. (I’m not one for detailed clothes descriptions. I’d make a pretty poor Horny Housewife Hotline phonegirl) Underneath I took care there as well by adorning my frame with a rather nice set of greeny-turquoise bra and French knickers. Finished off with some leg-warming but rather fetching over the knee sock things. Slightly Catholic school-girl.
I had made a bit of an effort. It was a big night. The first time in over a year I was planning on having nookie without a condom.
I was slightly worried we’d both be too knackered and tipsy to perform. We stayed at my sister’s until 3am and by the time we had walked back to my parents’ house and fed and watered ourselves (nighttime munchies are a killer) it was nearly 4am when we hit the sack. Was all my preparation and care to no avail after all?
Thank the heavens we were both as randy as two rabbits. Or bonobos. I hear they are randy primates.
We fell on eachother with a subdued, yet strangely urgent ardour. The juxtaposition of being in a tipsy state of sleepiness, but with the desirous need to have one another. Then and There. Immediately. Our kisses were tinged with wine and cider, making for smiled-through clinches with slight smirks. We quickly got serious as we undressed one another and began roaming our hands over every surface of naked skin we could touch. I was impressed by his state of awake-ness at that time as he proceeded to touch me up in that intimate spot, playing swiftly becoming searching, seeking out my response he loves. The arched back, the twisting body, the grasping of sheets he finds such satisfaction in seeing me perform. When given breathing space, I returned the favour. Hunting for his own gasps and caught breaths. He makes such good sounds when he’s being handled. Cross between a purr and a growl.
There is nothing hotter for me that him asking permission or wanting direction, and last night he did both. He wanted guidance to my G-spot. He found it. He asked to enter me without a condom. I granted him that permission. How could I deny him? I was longing for it. He pulled me over onto him and slipped inside me. It was blissful not having to pause and root around my bag for a few minutes. The subtle difference in feeling of having him within me with no barriers was indescribably wonderful. I can’t place words on why it felt delicious. It just was.
After we had reached our peak and were on the descent once more I whispered to him, his head lying on my chest in our embrace, ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
It was all I had anticipated, and much, much more. Isn’t is nice when that happens?
Emotional
Today has been tough.
Hard day was had today at work. Yesterday was fine and dandy. I even felt more energetic despite not returning until 6:40pm. Usually I am whacked out from my day – on the go from 6:45am until 5pm practically – but Monday was a Good Day.
Today was not. Alot was achieved, planning wise. But putting it into practice in the afternoon, not so triumphant. Well, at least it was better than last Tuesday. That was horrific.
Rollercoaster Course. Seriously. Ups and Downs galore. My insides are churned regularly with the loops they go through. I feel sick somedays, and my heart sinks. But the highs are wonderful and make it all worth it. I am so thrilled and exhilarated after a Good Day, and it makes the Downs seem not so bad. After all, the bumps will work themselves out at some point. I hope. I still have Hope in my box.
Finger’s crossed for a better rest of the week.
And on the plus side, only about 33 working weekdays until I qualify. Something to smile about.
Also, it’s our Five Year Anniversary in two weeks’ time. More of that to follow. Mister reminded me today during my emotional phonecall (Tuesday Pandorah feelings again – You know how these days are). He always has something up his sleeve to cheer me up when I least expect it or feel I can’t be cheered up.
I love that man. I’d be a broken Pandorah without him and probably have quit the course months ago. He keeps me going.
Keeping a weather eye on the horizon where the sunset lies at the end of this seemingly everlasting day
Tuesday is now Pantsday*
I’ve had a shite day today. Sorry, but I have. One of those, ‘Oh, it was going fine until…’ days.
So I’m going to have a little moan. But not a good sexy moan, unfortunately. I need to exorcise this day.
I have spoken before about how I can struggle on Tuesdays and Wednesdays from Mister Withdrawal symptoms and today is one hulluva Cold Turkey. Not only has the weather here in Devon been all stormy – making my hair all kinds of tangled – but on top of that I had a bad day at work. So much so, I broke down after ‘it’ happened. I can’t go in to it, due to anonymity stuff, but suffice to say it was mentally and emotionally draining in a negative way. My face went all blotchy as it is wont to do on these occasions much to my disgust, and I was not a pretty sight.
Add to this the fact that there is no Mister to come home to so I could at the very least have a long, exhale-into-his-chest hug, and I’m feeling low. No Mister to look up at with eyebrows creased and to move in to his neck to kiss it – I find this has a oddly calm effect on me. I think it has something to do with his smell. He always smells fantastic there – his spray wafting up from his shirt, mixed in with that fantastically sensuous Man Smell. Mmm. At these rare times when I am not my usual happy, cheery self it would be amazing to be living with him and to know he would be there if not when I got home, then at some point in the evening to console me if I needed it. This time next year…..hopefully.
But, every cloud….
We are meeting up tomorrow evening to go to the theatre. I am really looking forward to this. I have not been for over a year (Lady Chatterley’s Lover – There was nudity; it was right at the front of the stage; I was entertained). Which is very very good. He’s coming in to the City from his little seaside village. He’s so sweet like that. Coming all that way just for a night (although I’m not completely sure if he’s staying. Bloody hope so. I’ll make it worth his while).
So, time for Pandorah to pull her socks up, have a good shower and go through it all again tomorrow.
But without the tears this time, please.
*For any American readers, I don’t know if it’s the same there, but in the UK, ‘pants’ is used as an adjective to denote an expression of rubbishness e.g. ‘I had a pants day’ 
She’s in Trouble
I have competition.
This is new for me. I’ve never felt so threatened by someone else in Mister’s sphere.
And they will have more contact with him when I am away in the City.
And they’re blonde. (Nothing against blondes, but this one has the attentions of my Mister. Being a brunette, my rivalry receptors are awakened)
There is not much I can do. Mister has even said that he thinks extremely highly of this newcomer.
I am worried.
Has he a new love in his life? I always knew I had possible competitors for his affection, but never have I felt the need to actually be perturbed so much.
I found a picture of this intruder on the internet. Here is my rival.
Help!
Revenge Never Tasted So Sweet
The joy of having Mister visit me will never cease. After about a two week stint of enforced abstinence he came over to my place in the City. It is much more difficult from my personal point of view if in a relationship to go without sex than when single as you can get used to it when you are on your lonesome. If you do have a partner, you easily get settled into a routine of cuddles and kisses and you notice it all the more if you have some time apart. When I was single (gosh seems a long time ago now) I didn’t tend to long for the caress of an intimately familiar hand as much as I do now and feel the pangs of its absence very strongly.
I thought I would make myself as alluring as I could and opted for a skirt, knowing he likes such things and I find them quite sultry at times – it brings out the Inner Minx all together more quickly. I also plumped for my brand spanking new seamed tights (I know, I know, not nearly as sexy as stockings/hold-ups, but a girl has to make do at short notice) and they managed a very warm reception from their intended prey. Any excuse to have him feeling up my legs, especially my thighs and I’ll jump at the chance! I purposefully left the front door unlocked so he could discover me in a sultry pose across the bed.
But as plans tend to unfold, things often go awry. The little excited pixie inside got the better of me, and I leapt up to greet him as he entered the flat and gave him a big cheesy grin and kiss. I really do despair at myself at times. Anyway, after getting him fed and watered (me skipping about the kitchen deliriously happy to have him there, prone to bursting into a giggle) we settled back upstairs in my room and things soon turned a little steamier. Yum.
I quite like to unsettle Mister with my seducing techniques, you know, keep him on his toes not knowing what to expect next – that kind of thing. Often I do this by pausing halfway through something, for example massaging his feet, to look at him with a glint in my eye and change tack. In this case with the feet, usually to run a nail up his insole to send a large shiver through him – very sensitve feet he has. And this time I positioned him in my chair constantly pausing and changing tack, especially behind him where he couldn’t see my movements and what I was doing. Just to mess with him (’cause I’m a cruel playful thing sometimes) I like to silently move about behind him to unnerve him so when he looks to see where I am, the next time he does this I’ve completely changed position without him hearing me move - gets Mister every time, such fun! Little things please little minds, hey?
I did not use any gadgets or accessories this time, no scarves, handcuffs, candle wax or the like, partly because I got carried away, and partly for the reason that I just wanted it to be me alone tantalising him, without aids. The problem with getting carried away is that I am easily overcome if he fancies taking charge, which of course he did after about half an hour to 45 mins of LadyP time. But hey, who cares? I had my fun, slowly stripping off layer by layer in front, around and behind him; playing with his skin, draping my nails across his back – I think I even nipped with my teeth on his hips at some point which caught him out.
One thing I do like to do is to undress him. There is such pleasure in undressing a man, we both know why I’m doing it and half the fun is in taking your time over it, making him wait just that little longer – take the belt off but leave the trousers for another five minutes. And once he is naked, stand back and stare. Bliss. Utter bliss. Drinking in the image of his naked body, with his visual sign of his arousal standing to attention, there’s nothing quite like it.
It all makes up for the fact that he’s gone and taken me by surprise twenty minutes later and now having his turn for fun under his own terms.
Suspended Sentence
Oooh..! I feel like a little wee pixie of a girl on Christmas Eve dying to open her presents!
Mister’s coming round tonight, and so I am dedicating my evening to the preening that must take place before any visit. God, if only he knew what I go through for him…Traipsing through the dangers of Shredded-Leg Alley to continue my way down Eyebrow-Pluck Lane. Watching out for Smeared-Mascara-Poke-In-Eye Street until I arrive at my destination, Beautifully-Preened-and-Polished Pandorah Avenue.
I don’t do it because I feel I have to make an effort with my looks – he tells me he doesn’t even notice when I have no make-up on (Men! Gah!)*, I do it for myself, to make myself feel I have prepared for his visit. The physical preparation as an embodiment of my mental preparation.
Anyone would think he was royalty the way I go on. But I do have a lot to make up for from the suspended mischief we missed out on last week. It’s been over two weeks since our last proper session together and I will make tonight memorable. Two weeks of doing ‘time’ without having him completely, and I’m the proverbial racehorse, chomping at her bit.
Hmm…now that’s got me thinking of reins.
*Amendment as of 11/02/08 – After discussion with Mister, I seem to have provoked the wrong assumption (as I can often end up doing). He does notice when I don’t wear make-up, it’s not that he doesn’t, but that he says I look just as pretty without it. Stick, wrong end, me holding it. Me, Gah!
What shall we do with a problem like Pandorah?
Hmm…I appear to be in a bit of a quandary. A pickle you might even say. Do I go home for my reading week tomorrow, or do stay for a few days and put some effort into actually doing some work?
While it would be more than great to get home and see my Mister as soon as possible, I need to make sure I do not waste the week off and get some words typed in an essay-like fashion. I have a big deadline in a month’s time and I shouldn’t really be leaving this one to the last minute like I normally do. This One Counts. Lots. And I have no idea what I have to write about.
On the other hand, I always submit my work on time even if it means toiling over it up until three hours before the deadline and looking like something dug up from the cemetary when I hand it in. But I really shouldn’t be doing that anymore. It does not do me any good at all. Extra stress? No, thank you very much. So I should stay at least until Wednesday being all work and no play Pandorah.
And be made a very dull girl. Because I do *Really* *Need* to see Mister. I have my revenge plan to put into action, left over from last weekend which I still feel annoyed about aborting due to ‘incapacitating circumstances’. Quite right. Perhaps if I got that out of my system early on in the week, I may be more geared up to working later on without that preying on my mind…
Oh, lust and desire make a slave of me. I will go home this weekend. How could I resist? But I will make a mini-compromise. I’ll do my bits and pieces and preparation on Saturday for the dreaded ‘V-Day’ pandemonium that takes place on Thursday and go home afterward on the wonderful public service system that is the bus.
There never really was a decision to make, was there? I’m not ruled by my head in matters such as these but by my heart and that little place further south. My head’s such a pushover in these topics. It’s funny how I make spur of the moment choices when my man is involved in the dilemma.
