I recall writing the first round of “When I First…” posts in September.
Back then, like now I suppose, I was dipping my brush into my own blood, painting my fine art with catharsis as my canvas. I swept the words left to right, vibrant colors of nostalgia and longing, all for the moments of when I First…
Well, I guess when I first, “Firsted” You.
Like when I first kissed you, and that summer day when I went back and recorded it in pen. I wrote with a purpose that day to sink myself into the brilliant and bright emotional landscapes of revisiting the most memorable kiss of my life.
I intended and was successful in recycling through the vivid memories of every little detail, swimming inside my deepest consciousness, because unlike other posts – I knew it was important. It served a purpose. I needed to “write it out” and “get it all down” like a court reporter would so that I could remember what it felt like as I experienced it.
Not so that I could wet some panties. Not even so that you could enjoy it and feel like a muse, though I’m sure you did. I needed to record it – so I could live inside those moments once again, years from now.
I recalled how my soul breathed as I grabbed you by the waist, pushed into you, and finally kissed you, long after I had fallen in love with you. Not being able to wait one more moment to finally lock lips with you once I saw you approaching me, then becoming equally impatient quickly after for another kiss.
While writing about later, I recount feeling as if God guided my hand so that I could recapture every feeling, every thought, every little tiny detail that I felt, as I felt you for that very first time. All so that one day when I am old and gray, I can revisit that sofa in that home, through the words I penned that hot summer day. I guess my hope is that I will lean over and share it with you.
I know I look foolish, but I can’t help but hope for how my heart speaks to me, and it’s never stopped beating for you once it started.
Then I remember when first Firsted you again.
When I first tasted your sweet wetness, devoting everything I held within me as a man to the act of encasing your clit with my mouth, as you shuddered uncontrollably. Speaking to you with my eyes in a lost language, we had a full conversation without using words. I knew at that moment I was giving you something you never knew was a possibility, as the orgasms gripped you and tossed you around like a ship in a storm.
Palms down, breathing like you just ran a marathon, all while I watched you attempt to find real estate on the couch I devoured you on. The smoothness and taste of you still plays in my head, as if my poor middle-aged memory somehow found the DVR rewind that never skips a detail. I absorbed the motions in you as you attempted to scoot but I just would not allow that to happen.
Or when I first, Firsted You, yet again.
When I first entered you to feel the warmth of your insides and remembering in vivid detail the feelings I felt as it happened. The thoughts I had, the face you made and sounds you cried as I entered you. As I thrust back and forth inside you, battering your insides in aggression while somehow romantically becoming one with you, as both of us had ached for so long. My hazel iris met your beautiful eyes and I could see in your expression that a life-altering moment was being fed to you; to us both.
Love – true love – was being made at this moment.
The kind they make movies about, that so many love songs are written for, and that are signature pieces of the greatest poets.
You see, right now I’m so goddamn tired of not writing about what I am actually thinking. About what I am feeling inside.
Because all I can think about, and all I can feel – is you.
Heartbroken, I’m so sick and fucking tired of trying to pretend I’m not. I know that you are too and that very fact doesn’t make it any easier, but just harder, because the one person I’d give anything to console, I just can’t. Maybe I am wrong and you are doing better than me. But for some reason, Mr. Cynical who doesn’t believe in the intangible somehow feels your energy and I just wish I could put an arm around you.
You see despite what anyone else may think, I just deeply love you. We are but two people desperate to know another “first”, no matter what it is. A first lazy day of Netflix; a first road trip; the first trip on a plane; a first – whatever. It doesn’t really matter what it is, I just would really like another First with you.
But I guess I’ll just maintain for now; I’ll write if it strikes me to do so. In fact, I think I started this written piece with the intention of having a point, yet I just lost myself in memory of us. Yeah, I had a point.
It was something along the lines of When I First…Knew…
That I Was Falling In Love With You.
The actual date is hazy but I’m sure I could know it if had to. What matters is that it didn’t take very long for it to happen, for either of us. But we knew quickly and we knew there just was no use in denying it. All the hurdles we now see as mountains were so small then, and we just lept right past everything so we could dive a little bit deeper every moment.
I was Magellan, discovering new land, completely fascinated by every little word that came out of your mouth. From the smoothies that you religiously make to your matter-of-fact unbelievable success in your career to the library of books that you ingest to just the way you laugh, and the reasons that you do it.
I had no control over how I felt about you; I still don’t. Everything I found in you was like taking a dive deeply into quicksand, that I could for some reason breathe better in. My air today, now gone, and I just hope yours isn’t, for your own sake.
I remember thinking that it felt like a millennium to finally reach you, but a hundred more to finally feel your kiss once I knew I needed it. When I first, Firsted You. Your lips; your wetness; your taste; your salt; your scent; our union. God, it’s just so hard now to move back into monotony. We were getting started and once the D/s picked up, it became so much deeper and beautiful to be a part of. The honor I held in being your Daddy. I think I must have lived on air, water, and dopamine every day since that day I First Fell In Love With You, now in a tailspin.
By now, the reader must be scratching their heads trying to determine the category for the narrative and prose. The category is, “Can I just be human for a moment”, while I just write out what I fucking feel.
I guess I just miss you.
I love you.