“What are your fantasies”?

She asked me this recently, during a quiet moment together in bed. We fit so perfectly together that I tend to forget she hasn’t always been with me and doesn’t already know the answers to all the questions. My mind went blank, and I was surprised to find myself without a response to her query.

I pulled my eyes away from hers and looked down at our bodies, nestled together on my white sheets. My eyes ran across the smooth expanse of her back, her strong shoulders, the curve of her breasts, that perfectly formed space between her ribs and her hips. I lifted my gaze once again to her golden brown eyes, and as my hand traced a path along her arm I was in awe at the almost unreal softness of her skin. I laced my fingers with hers and was swept by a wave of deep contentment and a rush of exhilaration so interconnected that they felt like a single emotion.

This breathtaking sweetness and lightness of being - this is exactly what I wanted for so many years. It’s what I longed for, ached for, dreamed about, yearned to experience. Until recently I didn’t even let myself imagine that I could possibly live this, that it could ever be real. But it is real - aside from the births of my children, it is the most true and honest thing I have ever done.

Lying here like this with a woman - with this amazing, kind, soft, sweet, giving, wonderful woman (who somehow found me despite the fact that I wasn’t looking and was determined not to open myself to possibility) - this goes far beyond anything I could have imagined or dreamed or hoped for.

And so I found my answer,

“This. This is my fantasy.”

And I lay my head against her shoulder, closed my eyes and breathed in the utter perfection of moment.

Sometimes life just works out that way.

____________________________________________________

Apparently this one wanted to be a poem too:

you asked

you asked me for my fantasies
but how could I give you an answer
when
i look down your body
and mine
lying together
at the curve of your breast
and the sweet perfection of your skin
at the way your body curls
into mine
so I cannot tell where
one ends and the other begins
and it’s all curves and softness
and a tangle of limbs
atop a white down duvet
how could I think
of a daydream
when even the briefest touch
causes me to
lose myself
(and find myself)
every single time
and our connection
spirals across time
and space
and makes words unnecessary.
and even hurts and misunderstandings
just seem to swing us closer
and closer
to magic.
why would I spend time on
the imaginary
when even
the most ordinary
moments are
edged in brilliance
and sweetness and
beauty.

and of course that’s the answer
isn’t it?

you, my girl
this, my girl
us, my girl

it’s all fantasy
and it’s so very real.

sometimes life just works out that way.