its still your choice
Oftentimes, more often of late, you spend time apart from me. You are busy and frankly parts of your life are inscrutable to me. Your independence is important to us both and while I relish every second you spend with me, I will never ask for more than you naturally give.
After all, some day I will spend the rest of my life with you.
So I never take the mornings for granted when I can wake with you. And I try, every time you wake, to show you that.
Even when you wake alone you wake being cuddled. On your back, the accustomed pressure of your belly lies flattened by gravity but shaped by the tautness of soft, supple skin. Oh, and perhaps by the lingering remains of an occupant destroyed and sucked dry, giving you an extra special feeling of fullness that will beg to be released in time. For now, Neamh feels cosy tucked in your colon. Keep her there a while.
Your breasts fight the same fight as your belly: by weight they should be puddles with dusky ping pong balls balanced on top. But your body knows the shape it wants to be. Magnificent femininity greets you firm and generous every morning, cup size threatening to leave Latin letters behind. Do they make bras with cup sizes measured by Greek letters? Your tits are size alpha. Someday they will be size omega.
And if your own body weren’t cuddling you, right down to the magnificent curves of your thighs, squished tight enough that you immediately part your legs to release the heat they have built up between them… then even the bed embraces you. The firm mattress yields and envelops with memory-foam intimacy.
So my arm draped across you is almost an afterthought.
You wake in honey-coloured winter morning light. Immediately you feel me shift closer, a casual stroke of patterns on your belly converted into a flank-grabbing anchor so I can kiss you. Your flesh pillows out between my fingers and feels like finest silk.
“Good morning, my dear Raven.”
“Good morning; breakfast.”
I hesitate. “Was that a name, or a request?”
You grin. “That’s your choice.”
Your morning greeting seems to send me into a paroxym of delight. I roll fully on top of you, kissing you deeply and pushing you deeper into the mattress with my extra weight. I taste like mint and you infer that I’ve already been out of bed. The scent of grilling meat in the air tells you I might have preempted your little game.
When I shift my weight across your lower abdomen you wince and shift uncomfortably. Yesterday’s late dinner shifts an inch towards freedom, serving as a piston pushing a breach of gas. You blush and I chuckle, then kiss your lips again.
It’s time to check in breakfast. First I give you a… grope?… from bum to boobs. You feel my large hands rendered small by the bulk of the cheeks they bounce, then roll your hips to appreciate the way they mould the muffin top you worked so hard on. The grind of palm and heel deep into your fleshy abdomen drives out another adorable fart—you bap my head for that—but feels exquisite as it massages hard-working muscular tubing deep beneath your surface. Your ribs presumably still exist beneath rib fat and breasts, but they are pretty much entirely theoretical at this point. And the roll of your boobs beneath my hands is soft and pleasurable to an otherworldly degree. You feel like a visiting goddess.
You love your body.
I pause at the door before slipping away to the kitchen. You seemed to enjoy my touch but I watch as you begin to really enjoy your own. You writhe slowly as your touch explores your own personal topography, speeding up as one hand slips between the perfumed chasm of your thighs. You catch me watching and flash me a grin showing fangs sharp as scalpels.
“It’s still your choice…”
It takes me a long time to choose. I still don’t know if I made the right decision.