The mind is a funny thing

Incomprehensibly, the first thing I remembered when I woke up, spooned close into my love, was disappointment.

Then I remembered the countless orgasms crashing over me one after another in waves, breaking, swelling, breaking again as he played me like a sexual instrument custom designed for his touch.

Recalled next to my drowsy consciousness was the sex, all of the light touches and tender caresses and passionate kisses, absolute adoration pouring forth from him for me. He held my head, sometimes my throat,  tightly while he thrust into me so I could feel his control. That was all.

The fog of my bewilderment finally cleared and the reason for the disappointment made itself known. This man who made such intensely passionate love to me had said: "I'd do things to you, but I'm afraid I'll fall asleep."

Life is good

He's long and lean and wiry and he moves with the unconscious grace of a man who knows his body is just a shell for his spirit, and thus occupies it completely, without hiding inside it. He slides back into bed with me, his arms and his leg wrap around me and encircle me with absolute love and complete acceptance and understanding. His hand threads through my hair and holds my head against his chest, regularly squeezing me to him and murmuring sweet words of joy and fulfillment.

I am not silent in this. I have my own words of delighted satisfaction that spill over; I couldn't contain them if I tried. I am purring and squeezing him back.

"Life is good with you." he tells me as I gaze adoringly up at him.

Sweeter words were never spoken.