Hide

I peep at the world from behind my eyes.

Not that this is unique — that’s pretty much the sum of the architecture of the facial anatomy.

Eyes in face. Soul looks out.

Sometimes — not always but occasionally —  it is more than that.

I feel like some small sentient being. Hiding inside my skull, cradling my emotions, feelings and needs to me as I curl my emotions into a foetal ball. Ducking away from the glare of the light, even as I twist to peer out wonderingly through the holes in my head.

Hiding from the world, but not all of me. I peer, therefore, I still connect — or wish to. Or cannot bear not to.

Conscious-stream, emanating from behind the eyes.  The world-weary tiredness that propels me inward.

Not far enough to make it a permanent cut — the cruellest stroke of all I could and would not do. It is, don’t you think, the ultimate act of selfishness. Possessed as I am of a long-ingrained horror of  being perceived as or as actually being selfish.

But there are times when I wish I could retreat, snail-like.

And peep at the world from behind my eyes.

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Cuddle-Music-Slut

Is there anything better than lying in bed, naked, spent, cuddled up to the biggest, baddest, rottenest feline in the yard, as he breathes softly into your neck and strokes your hair, and kisses teeny tiny butterfly kisses along your shoulder and up the side of your neck?

What’s that you say? No?

Well, there is, but the only differentiating factor is when you are doing this listening to the most fabulous music, that just happens to be one of the basic tenets of your connection — the common denominator that you discovered when you were first getting to know each other.

That is pure heaven.

So today, on the worldwide designated day for showing love and affection — which I confess I have no real need of because I show and am shown the depth of love and affection on a constant basis (and sorry if I sound like I’m bragging, I’m not, I’m just so happy with Purrrrvert) — I share with you the latter part of our last session.

No words are needed, since none were spoken, other than “Oh my god, I LOVE  this song!”

And “I love you so much.”

And “Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

Happy Valentine’s Day, angel. No massacres, only love.

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Who I am

This is what I am.

A pervert, undiluted, unabashed and unashamed.

It is what it is.

I realised this yesterday, as I attemtped to refill Purrrrvert’s drinking glass.

The difficulties were that my wrists were cuffed to my ankles. He, of course, regarded the whole scene with an amused smirk on his face, and accepted the drink as his rightful due, before rolling me back on the bed and having his wicked way with me again.

(Oh, poor, poor me.)

I accept who I am, what I am.

I’ve never felt so alive, or so free. Even when restrained; perhaps especially.

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