Severed All Ties

zara's picture

< AZ's note: This is the kind of stuff that comes out of my head when I'm hurting and can't think straight. I tend to write to attempt not thinking about the pain. I've been suffering from a low grade sinus headache for the last three days. I feel like I'm going insane. So... this is what it produces. It's fictional, so don't read more into than you should. >

I miss his touch.

I miss the feeling of his hand gliding over my skin, as if it were marking points on a map. He knew every inch so well. He'd mapped me out, staked his claim, made my body his territory.

He knew exactly how to caress my neck, pressing his long fingers into the flesh, causing the tiniest of my hairs to stand on end. His lips knew the exact sweet spot to deliver the lightest of kisses. Directly below my right ear, in that hollow, I would feel the heat of his mouth and completely melt.

He was an expert at molding his body against mine, our skin touching at every point. We fit like two puzzle pieces, our limbs folding around one another's and forming a glorious finished product. I feel out of place without him now. As if I shall never mesh into another landscape. I shall never know what it means to feel as if I belong to the picture at large.

There are doubts in my mind that anyone will ever know how to please me like he did. That there will never be a hand that knows the exact pressure to exert while pressing open my thighs and exposing my sex. There will never be another who will possess the expertise required to make my back arch from the bed. Never will there be someone who can bring sweat to my surface as the bliss of my voice bounces off the walls.

There are those who advise me not to dwell. There will be another, they reassure me. There will be plenty more, they are out there, you will bathe in their desire as you did in his. Still, there are fibers within me sewn into the memory of him. I am not trying my hardest to rip out the stitches. I like the fit of him, even if it is only in my mind.

I had learned the stretch of his physique as well. His hips were sturdy, his chest expansive. He was built like a pillar. He could withstand all of my thrashing, my deepest thrusts and my hardest bucking. I would study his face with the greatest of intensities, watching the pleasure build.

His brows would draw together, the strong muscle in his forehead bunching them tight. His eyes would flicker beneath his firmly closed eyelids. His mouth, parted, would exhale the sharpest of breaths, the humidity covering my chest as I leaned over him. He would bite his lower lip at the moment of climax. He fought the oral deliverance of his orgasm. But his physical expression was far greater than any of the verbal declarations that I had previously experienced.

His hands would grip my hips, pulling them downward. His own would power up, reducing the space between us to less than nil. His chest would heave so strongly that I felt it would burst. The tendons in his elbows and shoulders would stress under his skin.

The man inside of him would escape him and flood me. I would feel completed, whole. Nothing dividing us. No barriers. An understanding of flesh and fluids, utterly incomparable to any other motion my being has been through.

I have little hope to find another whom I can share this type of connection with. There will be connections in the future. Some will be great. Some might possibly be even greater than what we had. But they will never be the same.

I miss his touch. The touch that he left on my spirit.


* Sigh *

I think you just said it all. You're words took me back to a moment in time I haven't visited in awhile.

bolivia_tracker's picture

I miss his touch.

There something about that line that really moves me. It's so simple. So many people will write so many words, and yet your four words have done it for me. I miss his touch.

This makes me want to take

This makes me want to take up smoking cigarettes again.

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