There are times when I like being in between, between the sheets, a lover’s arms, legs, between orgasms, yes, that’s my favourite as long as it’s only a few hours – not days or years – the feeling of satisfaction meets the anticipation of more satisfaction, love is never deeper than in that interregnum, physical love maybe, but there are no doubts, no “What ifs” – he just did and is about to do it again, that is the rawest form of love;
between lovers implies that you are going to find a new love, yet as we all know, that is when the pain is greatest because we don’t know IF we will find that new one – I’ve waited a long time; it seems like forever, for I’ve met my one true love and rejected him, unforgivably and certainly rashly, and I can’t take it back – that love is broken, like my first Barbie with the “growable” hair that “grew” too long, leaving her bald, not even like a fuzzy peach, just hard plastic and an empty hole, empty like my heart, like my brain when I pulled on Barbie’s hair or when I chucked my love, not the feeling of empowerment of when I chucked my husband, he knew that my love for him wasn’t as deep as it should have been, so he found another, a younger model, someone who sweat on him rather than out on a 6 am run,
running has its in betweens, too, you are always in between, between start and finish, between runs, between injuries, between new shoes; they say I should replace them every 300 miles, that’s every couple of months and they still look good, except that they don’t cushion as well as they used to; replacing them regularly keeps me between injuries, like my pulled calf muscle last autumn, that’s my regular ache, as well as the occasional achilles soreness – my running keeps me thin and ready for a wild night in bed, if that ever comes – I last longer, well, I take longer, too, because exercise suppresses my hormones – that’s OK because I love the tussle, the satisfaction of surviving a marathon, having to wash the sheets after a sleepless night, sheets with the sweet smell of love and sweat, a well-earned ecstasy and hyper-relaxation – I run fastest after sex – I don’t know why, I assume it’s the relaxation and possibly an adrenaline high;
I’ve been between jobs, you could say that I’m between marriages, but that assumes (wrongly) that I will marry again, I’m between novels, paralyzed between two that I can’t ever decide which to work on, between poems, this was supposed to be one, but I let my mind unravel, pouring out the first stream for you in a long while, but as soon as I’m done, I’ll be on an island between streams again, in limbo doing in the mambo (just wanted to use that line!), which is better than being in mambo doing the limbo or the samba in a mambo bikini (I’ll post the picture for you, although she isn’t dancing in it) – I like the easy release ties, for when you’d rather swim (or dance?) au naturale, or maybe something else, yes, I’ll take that something else instead, because I want to be back in between, the short in between, the interregnum.
Shortly after my divorce, I bought myself silk crimson pjs cum negligee. (Notice how I slipped in some latin? And what a apropos choice of word. Well done, Anne.) I thought at that time that it was to get myself back on the prowl. It was an extravagance – something for me. You might think that after 15+ years it wouldn’t fit me anymore, but actually I was heavier then. There was too much stress during my marriage and its aftermath; I ate more and ran less. The negligee was supposed to symbolize freedom. Every once in a while, I decide to wear them, just for me – my private personal seduction. Last night was the night, and realizing that I didn’t have to go out at all today, I’m still wearing them. In fact, I’m still in bed. The weather is warm today, so I’ve dispensed with the covers, preferring the warmth of my laptop on my thighs.
I’ve unbuttoned the top for comfort, hanging free and easy. Although, I got up to do my morning toilette, I haven’t bothered to brush my hair. It’s tangled all over the place, but there is a naturalness about it that seems to fit with today’s freedom. The panties are perhaps a little too free. As I said, I’ve lost a little weight since I bought them, so they slip around a little bit. It doesn’t matter no one is watching, except you, dear reader, and I trust you not to stare. Have I misplaced my trust? Today, I don’t care. You can stare all you want. Here, I’ll lift up my laptop, so you can have a good look. See? They’re a little rolled up in the back and hence are hanging rather low, not hiding much at all. Excuse me while I stand and straighten them up…
… did you get a good look? I get really red when I blush. They slid down to my thighs when I scooted to the side of the bed.
Mmmm … I love silk. My body almost feels smoother through it than touching the skin directly. Want to try it? Cheeky! I had an option of white lace trim, but I opted for pure silk, with discreet buttons. The top hangs to my upper thighs. I’m not any taller than when I bought it, but it seems like it is shorter. As I sit here, it hangs to the side anyway, giving you the full length of my legs, a bit of tummy and yes, those. I like having small breasts – it’s funny, most of my female characters are jealous of larger-breasted women, but I’m not. They don’t get in the way, and I rarely have men talk to my chest instead of my eyes. Maybe it’s closet breast-envy, but I wouldn’t admit to it.
So what shall I do today? I might just be decadent and sit here all day. At some point, I should eat, I suppose, but for now I’m just going to sit here, hang loose, and enjoy the freedom. No, you can’t stay, this is my private time. (Thinks about buying silk sheets.)
Have a nice day. Now, beat it!