Dear Stranger…

How many times did I tell you goodbye just to realise how much I miss you in my life? It has been a week since I told you that I don’t need you anymore, and I still believe it is true. But today, I miss you. From one moment to the next, I felt this longing to hold you and to listen to you. It was as if a wave of “you” pulled me under when I got ready for bed. I had some of your words in my head “something clicked, profoundly” and another that still makes me overthink: “without you, I feel abject loneliness”. I remember that conversation very well. It was the first time you cried with me, and I promised that I would always be there for you and that I would wait for you, no matter how long it would take for you to love me.

I don’t know. I mean, I deserve love, and I deserve to be cherished and valued. But I am also loyal. And maybe I am more loyal to the memory and fantasy of us than to our reality. We were nothing in reality. At the same time, I only ever wanted to be your everything. I never wanted to save you; I wanted to support you and help you through the muddy waters of life. Not because I have the insight and knowledge, but because I thought we would fit and complete each other. I was deluding myself. We both know that. I allowed you to manipulate me and to make me the person you wanted me to be. And when you were done grooming me, you were not interested anymore. The ghosting and gaslighting was always the most challenging part of us. It is easier nowadays because I recognise my worth and value a lot more now. When we met, I was a naive and shy girl. Now I am a woman who knows what she wants and needs.

Tonight, I need you. The memories of us.

Dear stranger, some days, I am convinced that you ruined me for everyone who is willing to love me. Other days, I know that I would not be who I am without your input and impulse. I am just tired of looking up at the statue of you that which I put high on a pedestal. I am a short woman; I can not reach those expectations; I am doomed to fail.

I want and need you to remember me. I remember you.

Yours, Sweetie.

Dear Stranger

Dear Stranger,

Five years ago, you entered my life and changed everything. Months of euphoria and months of suicidal depression followed you. I don’t give you credit. Not for the good and not for the bad. It was all in me from the start. We haven’t been in touch since last May, but I never forgot or forget you. You are still under my skin, and that is where you belong.

I am not as influenced by your presence or lack thereof as I once was.

In hindsight, I think I made peace with you when you said I should use cocaine to lose weight, and once achieved, you would make love to me on your piano.

The fantasy of this is beautiful to be honest, but there is one hitch: I am not willing to change for anyone. Not anymore. I will not bend backwards to become something or someone I am not. Love me for the person I am. That was all I ever asked. But I was never enough… And now, I think, finally, I moved on. I still care about you and your well-being but not enough to wait for you.

And so, dear stranger, on our fifth anniversary, I will tell you one last time how much you mean to me and how much I love you. But I will also tell you: goodbye. See you in another life.

Your Sweetie

I will come for you (repost)

I watch her. Daily. I know her routines, and I know when she goes to sleep. I stand on the street, hidden in the shadows, but I see her. I see how she pulls her curtains close. Does she know that I can still see her? I see her silhouette undress. The shirt that glides off her shoulders and how she shakes her head. Her hair falls in long waves down her shoulders. I see how she unclasps her bra, and I wish it would be me doing it. But I am doomed to stay in the shadows. Is she aroused, or is it cold in her bedroom? I would like to taste her breasts. I am sure she is very sensitive, and it would make her moan. She pushes down her skirt, and I long to see her like that. One day I will. I won’t hide forever. Once, not that long ago, I worked up all my courage and asked her for the time when she passed me on her way home. Her icy blue eyes stared at me as if I was the scum attached to her Manolo Blahniks. Her slender fingers brushed the cuffs of her stylish trench coat back and revealed an expensive watch. She answered curtly and was gone before I had processed it. Her voice was deep and raspy. Really sexy. Ever since that day, I imagine her moan my name. Maybe even scream it in ecstasy. One day she will. I am sure about that. I wish I could see more of her than her silhouette. All too soon, she turns off the lights, and her room is bathed in darkness. I wonder if she sleeps naked or if she puts something on when she turns off the lights. One day I will go upstairs and find out.

Why not today?

I managed to get a spare key to her apartment. I stole her best friend’s purse because I knew she had the key. It was too easy. I have never used it before. But I will be using it today. Oh, this is so exciting. I am going to see the woman of my dreams soon. She will be pleased to see me and invite me to stay the night. Of course, we will not sleep. We will be busy making love. Yes, making love – not fuck. She is my only real love. My soul mate. It’s a good thing I remembered to steal some chewing gum this morning at the newsstand. I put a stripe in my mouth and let the minty flavor take away the furry feeling on my tongue and teeth. It’s a struggle to chew because of the many missing teeth in my mouth. She will love that too. I can kiss her with my tongue without too many teeth in the way.

I am already on the right floor. How can she live in a building without security? Every creep can walk up and break into her home. It’s a good thing I am here to protect her. I sit in the shadows of the street lamps every night, and I wait until she turns off all of her lights. It’s just to make sure that she is alright.

Not so long ago, she had a male friend over. She tried to make me jealous. She didn’t even close the curtains. That’s how I know that she has milky white skin, and the aureole of her nipples is a dark shade of red, almost brownish. She’s a natural blonde. She wanted me to see it, and it turned me on so much. That’s how I know that she is waiting for me too. She put on that show for me, and now I am here, putting the key in the lock, and I am ready to surprise her. I try to be as silent as possible. I don’t want to wake her up just yet. I want to surprise her, see her sleep, maybe inhale her scent. I am planning to cut off a little of her hair as a souvenir. She will not be pleased, but if I do it while she’s sleeping, she won’t even notice. I remember where her kitchen is and look through the drawers to find scissors. Her kitchen is not as neat as I would have expected it. The dishes from her dinner are still in the sink, and there is half a glass of wine on the counter. On second thought – she must have left it for me. I drink it in one go and lick the rim of the glass. She drank out of the same glass. Some of her DNA is going over into my bloodstream now. I feel euphoric. She is in me.

In the dark, I have trouble to find the right door, but soon enough, I find it. It’s not closed, and I sneak in. Her breathing is calm and even. Almost hypnotizing. She is only wearing panties. The sheet that must have covered her earlier is a mess and not doing its job well. I bend down over her to smell her. I want to memorize this moment. I let my nose roam over her body, paying particular attention to her genitalia. The scent of woman and sweat arouses me further, and I stroke myself through my clothes. I can’t hold back a moan. She stirs in her sleep, but she doesn’t wake up. She parts her legs, and her slip moves a little to the side. I am sure she did it on purpose because now I can see her most intimate secret place. I am going to taste her tonight. My cock strains against my pants, and I have to free it. I let out another groan when the chilly night air blows over its precum drenched head. I imagine it to be her mouth and her breath on me. Will it ever be more than just a fantasy?

I still clutch the scissors in my hand and remember to cut off one of her locks. When I move closer, my penis touches her shoulder. Her hot skin and her naked body are too much for me to take. I rub myself faster and come all over her breasts and shoulder. Some of my release lands on her face and in her hair. She looks good like that. She is such a beautiful woman christened with my semen. She is mine now. I marked her as mine.

She wakes up, I startled her, and she stares at me with wide eyes. I know that they are blue. I would like to see the color again, but it’s dark in here. Her legs and arms begin to flail in a weak attempt to cover herself. I tell her that I am finally here and that I understood her invitation. I sit down on her bed and feel the mattress dip under my weight. The heat radiating from her body is palpable; even through the layers of my clothes, I can feel her. I run my hand over her torso and pay extra attention to her breast. As I predicted earlier, she likes it when I knead them. She whimpers and whispers, “Please, please,” her voice sounds different from when I asked her for the time, but I guess it’s because she just woke up. My hand wanders further south and comes to rest between her legs. She closes them, trapping my hand over her heated vagina. I stroke it with my thumb. She whimpers again. I let my nose roam over her neck and lick it. She tastes salty and like soap. I love it. It’s intoxicating. But there is something else. It feels like panic. But maybe I only confuse it with the taste of arousal.

She starts to move more. Almost as if she is trying to fight me. But she can’t be fighting me. I love her. She is my soul mate. She pushes me away hard, and I lose my grip on her. She plays hard to get. I smirk at that. I love it when women do that. I get closer to claim what’s mine again, only, this time, she slaps me in the face. That was not nice. Not nice at all. I only want to love her and protect her. “Get away from me,” she screams and slaps me again. I start to wrestle her on her bed and come to lie on top of her. I know that I am a stout man. She can’t get away from me now that I trapped her with my own body, but she catches me off guard when her knee collides with my balls. The pain is blinding me, and I course. I slap her face to make her see sense. To make her stop. The more she fights me, the more I slap her until she is finally lying still. I tell her that I will put on the lights now. She isn’t protesting. I guess she understood that I am here to worship her. To love her.

In the dark, I try to find the light switch. I blink when the bedroom is illuminated. What I see now is not what I have expected to see. She is covered in blood. Her body and her bed are drenched in it. I look at my hands; they are colored crimson from her blood too. Her face looks bloated, swollen. Her eyes are open. Staring at the ceiling. Filled with fear. I didn’t do it. I didn’t want this to happen. I love her. I fall down on my knees and weep. I didn’t want this. The scissors are impaled in her neck. I must have stuck them in while we were fighting. I can’t remember anything.

No matter how many gushing wounds she has on her face and neck and torso, she is still a beauty. I let my hands wander across her body one last time. I want to memorize her and lock those memories inside my mind. Her skin is colder than before, and, strangely, she isn’t breathing, but she looks peaceful. I will miss her, but now, she will be forever mine. It gives me solace.

I get up from the floor and put my limp dick inside my pants again. It’s time to leave and hide back in the shadows. She’s just asleep. Only sleeping. Yes, that’s it; she is resting. Tomorrow I will come back again. Maybe she won’t fight me as much and just lets me in. I know she wants it. I pull the scissors out of her neck and cut a thick lock of her hair off to put it in the pocket of my coat. I don’t need the scissors anymore and drop them on the floor. One last time I kiss her red lips. I expect her to moan or respond in any way, but she stays silent. She must be exhausted. Quietly, because I don’t want to wake her up, I leave her apartment.

It is dark and cold outside. I see that I forgot to turn off her lights, but she will certainly do it herself when she wakes up again. I sit down on a bench nearby and pull out the lock of her hair. It’s soiled in blood, just like my hands and clothes. But it’s okay. It’s her blood, and I will put off washing it off as long as I can. It’s a part of her, after all. I sniff at the hair, and I have an instant boner. Freeing myself from the confines of my pants, I rub myself until I find release.

Tomorrow I will visit her again. The thought of touching her again makes me shudder. I smell my fingers; they still hold the scent of her skin and of her blood. I am made to love her, and soon, she will see it too. And then she will love me too.

Sunday Scribbles #15 – mirrors

No more empty eyes in the mirror glaring back at her. Done with insecurities fueled by people who never listen or don’t care. No more. No more. She wants to be free. But something is holding her back. Yesterday, she was drowning herself in tears and regrets, but not anymore. She puts her hands on either side of the sink and lowers her head. Her hair covers her face like a dark curtain. With a determined and defiant sneer, she throws her head back and looks at her reflection. She has no idea who she is seeing. Is that really her? Has she changed as much as she is accused of having? She feels broken and bruised inside, but none of it is visible on the outside. Her soul is in shards, cutting her from the inside. Broken heart. But her skin is unblemished; the battle scars hidden under layers of life. Her brown eyes scan her face once more. All she ever wanted was human contact. She hates being vulnerable and only rarely shows it, because if she opens up, shares her most profound wants and needs, talks about her opinions and fantasies, it always ends in her being pushed away. She tries to smile. It is only a grimace. She wants to feel alive. And loved. But the real her is not loveable. She tries staring into her soul but doesn’t see anything—only empty eyes in the mirror. And as much as she tries to pretend that everything is okay, nothing is. She is a hostage in her own cage.

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This is my contribution to Aaron’s weekly prompts. I don’t participate every week; I am not that creative these days. And it is not much this week either. Just something I improvised when I saw the prompt. Visit Aaron’s site Confusing Middle

Insomnia, dear stranger

It’s 2:45 in the morning, and I am wide awake. This hasn’t happened in a while and I feel how my mood is changing. I am irritated with myself because I am to blame for tonight’s insomnia. I was tired but had an appointment tonight. I thought it would be good to have a cup of coffee. I should have drunk espresso instead. No matter how many espressos (espressi?) I drink in the evening, I always sleep through the night.

Also, it is hot, my partner had too much beer (TMI: his farting keeps me awake), and I need to get up for work in three hours.

I tried avoiding my phone for a long while, but gave up eventually. I probably had 2 hours of sleep so far.

On a positive note, I sold two books, and the more I think about it, the happier I about the release. Just 3 more hours at work, and I will be on leave until August 25th. I bought a dress for a wedding, it is unusually colourful, but I look good in it. Waiting for the first review of my novel.

Most of my thoughts these days revolve about the novel and how readers perceive it.

I should try to catch some sleep.

***

Dear Stranger,

It is late, and I can’t sleep. You were on my mind these last days. A lot. All the time. It is good that we are strangers right now, but once in a while, I would love it if we were acquaintances again. Ah, stranger. If you only knew what I know. Am I awake in your dreams? Some nights, I dream myself away to you. My head on your chest, your fingers combing my hair. Sweaty from the day, our skin would stick together, and unbothered, we would lead a naked life. Naked body, naked soul. I close my eyes, and I see you. Always yours, “marriage material”

3:32 – goodnight

Dear stranger,

Who would have guessed five years ago that our dance would still continue? Months of silence, weeks of unconditional love. Who would have guessed? One of the voices in my head insists that it is not five years because we have silent months, and yet… We always find our way back together.

I obviously won’t forget you, why should I? And you can not forget me; why should you?

Whenever things are happening in my life, I want you to know. I want to get in touch and tell you, but I don’t. I hold back. Recently, I learned that I am holding back much more than I thought I was. It’s weird, and yet… I still maintain that you are the only person on this earth who knows me bare. You are also the only person who never judged me, just encouraged me to be the best version of myself I can be. And for that, dear stranger, I love you. And I will continue to feel that way.

Are you there? You used to ask that question. My response was always the same: I will always be there. Promised.

Yours sincerely,

Sweetie

VC is taking a dive

Out of the dark, into the light. No more being hidden away in a gym bag. From where I am, I can see lots of naked male butts. It might be because I am in an all-male changing room. Some are hairy; some are smooth, some could use some sun, others need more exercise. I am grabbed in strong hands, and two feet are pushed through the designated holes. I glide up smooth calves, pass manly knees, and muscular thighs. I find my place; fitting snuck as a glove against the intimate region of my wearer. He is a world-class athlete. Today we will only do a training session in the pool, but I know that we will both give our best. I am touching patches of skin that no person has touched in a while. Only VC. There we go. One jump, heels over head and we dive almost to the bottom of the pool. He breaks through the chlorine filled water, takes a breath and dives in again.
VC; that’s what they call when he cuts the water with every stroke of his arms. Once I am wet, I am clinging to his skin, I don’t want to leave his body. All I know is that I was made for him. I was made to hug his body. I want to believe that he wins races because of me.

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10 minutes and the timer went off. 233 words. I don’t know if it is a lot or not, we always need to take into consideration that my ideas have to be translated into English while I am writing. This is what I wrote in this short time… Unedited and no mistakes were corrected.

Something a lot like love

I wake up, rested, and with a smile on my face. This hasn’t happened in a long while, and I stretch my arms above my head with a low moan. The sun is shining, and the birds are singing their songs, announcing another hot summer day. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I turn to face you, and I am startled, and a bit embarrassed, when I see you sitting cross-legged with your laptop balancing on your knees and papers next to you. You are pinching a pen between your lips, and your reading glasses add something serious to your face. Your hair is messy and sticking in every direction, I smile, remembering how it felt between my fingers last night. I wonder how late it is and how long you have been awake. Your fingers are caressing the keys of your laptop as if they were on a mission. I nudge your knee with mine, making you smile and dropping the pen from your lips. The speed of your fingers falters, but they don’t stop.

By now, I know that you are a workaholic – a real sexy one at that, but I never had the chance to wake up with you in work mode before. It feels domesticated, and as if we are entering the next level of our relationship. At the same time, it feels as if it has always been like this; familiar. “Let me just finish this real quick, and then I am all yours, ” you say, and I nod. Your voice is low and thick with sleep. I want to crawl into your lap and claim your attention, but I am too old for that. You asked for a couple of moments to finish your business – I respect that. The words “I love you” are at the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down. A concentrated frown is forming between your brows, and you lean closer to your screen. Intelligence is sexy, and you are the perfect example of that.

I decide not to distract you, and turning to my stomach; I fumble for my phone on the nightstand. I could get out of the bed and freshen up in the bathroom, after all, this is the first time we spent the day, the night, and the next morning together without any of us being in a hurry to get to work. We have never spent this much time together. But I want to stay in bed next to you. Your heady, sweaty scent is comforting for me. Your presence and your silent company are all I want for now. For a moment, insecurity gets the best of me, hoping that I am not a total mess this morning. In the movies, lovers wake up looking perfect, hair and makeup are where they are supposed to be, their eyes are never swollen. But I am not an actress; I am me. I run my hands over my unruly hair, matting it down slightly; after that, I run my fingers under my eyes, wiping smudged mascara away. That has to be enough for now. I am not perfect.

Concentrating on my phone again, I read the news and check my social media channels. Nothing exciting to see, and I keep scrolling until I see a picture of us. We are laughing into the camera, both holding a drink, looking flushed and happy. The caption underneath isn’t written in words; there are two emoticons: a smiling face, and a red heart. I smile, and my heart races. We had a great evening. Perfect even. But I hadn’t noticed that you posted our photo online. I don’t mind, too much, though. Until now, we were dating casually; the picture is making what we have more real and official. I like that. Butterflies are doing somersaults in my stomach. The comments are all kind and friendly; some are teasing. Some people are congratulating you on your new girlfriend. Is that what I am? Am I your girlfriend? We haven’t put a label on our relationship, but maybe that too is the natural evolution of things?

“Be right back, ” you announce, cleaning the papers from your side of the bed and tugging the laptop under your arm. I nod and get back to the social media app with a sigh. Is this it? Am I supposed to leave now? I expected a make-out session in the morning, continuing where we left off last night, but real life is not a story or a movie. I tug a strand of my hair behind my ear and push the blanket off my legs—time to get moving.

I startle when I feel your lips on my calf. One of your hands caresses my leg while your lips leave a kissing trail all over my body until you turn me in your arms. I can’t hide my happy grin.

“Good morning, where are you going?” you ask, kissing my lips. You taste like mint, and I am embarrassed that I didn’t take the time to brush my teeth. But you don’t let me overthink. You have a way of distracting my train of thoughts. My hands map your skin, touching as much of you as I can, while your kisses get more demanding. I close my eyes and feel the mattress dip under our weights. You cover me from head to toe, framing my face with your hands. I feel every inch of you pushed against me, igniting my need for you. I spread my legs, and just like a puzzle, everything falls into place. This is where I am supposed to be right now. I look at you and see an expression of love and lust. My heart is expanding and pushing every thought aside; I am pulled under in a wave of emotions.

We stay in bed most of the day. Making love, reading on our phones, talking. We just get up to eat and take a shower. The sun sets, and the moon rises.

It is Saturday night, and as my senses are filled with you, I moan the words I kept back the entire day: “I love you.” You smile, and your touches become more sensual, and the way you make love to me becomes something deeper. Something meaningful.

I rest my head on your chest after being boneless from my last orgasm. Your hand caresses my back. “Say it again,” you demand. I smile against your skin. “I love you.” My cheeks flush as the words leave my mouth. “Is it cheesy when I say that I do too?” you reply. You shuffle from underneath me and turn to face me. “Is it too early to be in love?” I burst out laughing. We are in our mid-thirties and behaving like teenage girls. You join me, kissing my forehead when you regain your breath. “Stay, I love you.” The seriousness of your words overwhelms me, but I am trying to hide it. I simply pull you into my arms. And it feels good. No words are needed. Just us. The connection between us.

We settle in for the night, watching a movie on your laptop. I haven’t worn any clothes all day long, I think before I fall asleep in your bed for the second night in a row.

Dear stranger

Dear stranger,

It has been a while. I am not okay, and that’s okay. This time, it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Someone else is breaking my heart, and I am trying to be strong, and I am failing because I am exhausted and frail and in physical pain. I want to take my phone and send you a text because you are the person I want most in my life, but you are hiding in your mind and in your own life. Silently you left my life again, and that’s okay. When I think about you, my heart is expanding, and my creativity overflows. You are in most bits and pieces that I write. Countless times daily, you are in my thoughts – and it never makes me sad. It always makes me smile. The realisation hit me that the memories we made (and will make again, I am sure) will never fade or die. They are in me, in my blood. And since I write so much, it also means that they are immortal. You are immortal because my writing is tinted with thoughts of you. I am grateful that you are a part of me. Sometimes you are there, ready to be loved, other times you go away, close the door and leave me guessing what happened. I will never get any answers. I am making peace with that. I am making peace with us. If you are thinking half as much about me than I do about you, then everything will be alright. Not now, it is not the right time yet, but soon. Someday.

Until then, my heart is open for you. We can make it if we try.

xx