The me that is she...

Don't you wonder sometimes, did you ever wonder how it is possible to want both at once?

For one to have nothing to do with the other?

For each to be uniquely powerful? Deep?

But for the wanting and ache for one to sometimes be more moving than the other? If only because it is always softer, sweeter, slower...

There is nothing about wanting a woman that means I don't want

him. Nothing which makes that less than....what it is. But there is something about wanting...really needing a woman...in company of spirit and body that is completely and utterly different....that is open and willing and I suppose like the wanting of him for me in the quiet moments...the gentle languid moments..when we savour.

Perhaps this is why a purely physical connection with a woman leaves me wanting...if that is all it is...

There is perhaps little time in those hurried moments to reflect on the soft curve of a back, the deep indent and sweep of a collar bone, the fullness of the back...of her...the sweetness of lips tugged by teeth tongue peaking in between...to savour...the me that is she and somehow more wonderous.

Sometimes when he looks at me in reverence and wonder...when he traces his fingers along my inner thigh, lays his face on the fullness of my breasts or rubs his nose against my cheekbones, sometimes when he just lays...with me...I feel the tug that he feels and know it is the same...when I'm with her.

There is something special and tender and delicious between us...women...always.

When exacted with purpose and calculated skill...when measured and slow...when frantic and panting...

It is always there..in the softness of our bodies...the memory of our fingers...

when we savour...