April 2023 – Audio Version

Do you know the delicate sound glass makes when it splinters into the fine cobweb of brokenness? This was the sound my heart made on receiving certain news. Devastation at the finality of my standing in the world consumed me. Yet, life moved on whether I was ready for it or not. I wasn’t okay, but it didn’t matter. Responsibilities tugged me in all directions. I masked my face as best as possible, but the pain refused to die and lay just under the surface of my veil, waiting like a brooding storm on the distant prairie horizon. 

For the first time in days, I was alone. I could not go home and face the realization of the unprocessed pain. As much as I wanted to lie and tell myself, I was doing just fine. I was not. I needed to release the anguish and get it out of my body, away from my soul. I had already spent the past four nights silently weeping into my pillow, my room the only witness to my grief. An unhealthy habit came to mind, it promised relief, but the price tag was not one I could hide, and I strove against the idea. 

If I went home, I knew the darkness I would face but not how I would battle it. I could not be alone. My logical side argued that I had no reason to feel so near a breaking point. I was surrounded by dear hearts who took time out of their day to check in with me. I was currently driving home from a wonderful dinner with friends. Yet, facing the long road ahead, the thought of entering a silent, empty home left me shaking, tears pooling in my eyes. Thunder rumbled…the storm was approaching, and I needed to find shelter.

I broke my cardinal rule against texting first. I argued this was a different circumstance, I needed help, and he had promised to be there should I ever need it. I tried to sound nonchalant in my text, noting that I was in town and curious if he was free for a moment. I was careful to add I was not looking for sex. He responded he was unavailable until later, to which I replied it was no big deal; I would head home and put myself to bed. 

The universe must have whispered something in his ear because he called the next second, inquiring where I was and how far I was from his home. I assured him I was just looking for a hug and not to change his plans. My voice almost cracked as I insisted I was fine and headed home. He responded, stating he would be home in 10 minutes and, in a firm voice, told me to meet him there.

On arrival, Bradley burst through the open door and came bounding down the stairs to greet me. Eager for all the pets, he ushered me into the house, his tail wagging furiously. The home was warm and soothing. I tried to appear unperturbed as I attempted to restrain the gale within me. Still, the storm clouds blurred my vision, and I struggled to breathe as he moved about the house, sparking conversation, lighting a candle, and adjusting the streaming music. Bradley immediately jumped beside me on the couch and buried his head on my lap. He is best-est of all dogs, after all. 

Joining me on the couch, his deep voice was reassuring as he encouraged me to share. We sat casually, close, yet only our knees touched; this gave me space to hide my shaking fingers deep within Bradley’s thick fur. I struggled with my voice and attempted to put my thoughts in a succinct line. Where did I start? This was silly. I was fine, totally not fine. Would he judge and think me ridiculous? Did I truly have anything to be this overwhelmed over? Why was I still grieving the loss of a cold and distant love? This was stupid. I was stupid. Yet, even as my words fell in a faltering cadence, it did not take long for everything to spill out, the grief and hurt and the weight of the world billowed out of the thick tumultuous clouds within my heart. My tears began pattering down my cheeks like spring rain. I felt so alone and desperate for human touch. I did not need conversation or to be heard so much as simply held. To know another’s presence in the darkest recesses of my thunderstorm. 

I was only partway through my saga when he pulled me into his lap and the depth of his chest, whispering, “Come here, come here.” I turned my back to his chest, his arms encasing me. Bradley worked his head deeper into my lap, my toes underneath his warm, firm body. Panic grew as the tempest fought my mind. My soul struggled to remain in control of my elements. My breath came in short gasps. Dark clouds swirled within me, and thunder added to my chaos. His arms held me. Why wasn’t this feeling ebbing? I had received the hug I needed. The weight of work, motherhood, endless decisions, and responsibilities all felt like too much. How could I keep going? How could I possibly manage everything enveloping my life? 

“When I had my panic attack,” he began. His head pressed against mine, his lips brushing my ear. “I remember the EMTs helped me with my breathing.” His voice broke through with tender strength. “I want you to do that with me. In through your nose for four, we’re going to hold for five, and then we’re going to breathe out for seven.” 

Sobs now wracked my chest, and my nails dug into the muscles of his arms as I struggled to keep from clawing my flesh. My breathing was too erratic to attempt breathing in for four seconds. Holding the air for five seconds felt like suffocating while drowning. On seven, I feared my very heart and soul would leave my body if I released too much of the storm, wind, and rain. 

I was desperate, fighting the wind to keep myself together. I could not fall apart and utterly lose myself in front of this gorgeous man. Four, Five, Seven. The storm inside crescendoed, thoughts now free to roam, buffeted my helpless consciousness with the ferocity of straight-line winds.  

“Let it out. You are safe here,” he crooned. “Just let it all out.” His hold was unyielding. 

The weight grew, I was drowning in a flood of emotions, and the tightness in my throat threatened to undo me. “How was breathing going to help me feel better? My panicked mind raced. My world was falling apart.” 

The darkness clutched my thoughts in its oily claws, the light wholly obliterated as my body trembled, and the longer I sat, the more my mind searched for answers and solutions. Everything was going wrong, too many balls spinning, too many memories of what had been and dreams of what should have been and was now lost to me for all eternity. The storm finally had my attention, and it was determined to make me aware of every suppressed fear and every ounce of grief.

His arms remained woven tightly around me, and his voice remained steady. “In through your nose for four, hold for five, out for seven. Breath with me, Elsie.” With everlasting patience, he repeated these words like a Buddhist monk reciting his chants. Four, Five, Seven. He breathed with me until his voice was the only sound resonating in my head. The gale within began to wane.

His words and aura were utterly void of irritation or impatience when at last, I took a shuttering breath, and my weary body melted into his strength. I did not think it was possible, but he pulled me closer, his breath brushing my temple as he whispered, “Good girl. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” 

My breathing and vision were restored for the most part. Drying my eyes, I began to apologize profusely for invading his evening. I learned he had been at a wine tasting with friends but dropped everything at my text messages without a second delay. I felt horrible. This was precisely why I never reached out to people in these moments. My inability to control myself, to be a strong independent woman, had cost him an evening with good wine and company. He refused to let me finish or rise from the couch to depart. He personally knew the dance with darkness, having fought his own recent battles. Being available was what friends do for each other, and someday he might need me to do the same for him. I will be there in a heartbeat.

Gently, he guided the conversation, getting me to chuckle over the silliest things, cautioning me against getting too close to the vicious Bradley but changing his tune the next moment, lamenting what a “touch whore” Bradley was whenever anyone was around. Finally, I breathed, relieved by the light distraction, though my body felt strung out, my nerves on edge. 

Kissing my hair, he unwound himself from around me and gave instructions to bury my fingers in Bradley‘s fur until he returned. My body felt cold and empty without his presence, and I was grateful for the comfort of Bradley’s affectionate and heavy head in my lap. He returned with two glasses containing less than a finger of a warm caramel liquid. The fiery warmth of the bourbon trickling down my throat was a welcome sensation and only helped clear my mind. “I should go,” I reasoned to myself. This was not a cry for sex. I had received more than a hug and embarrassed myself with my sob story and swollen runny nose. 

Before I could speak, he turned to me and stated, “If you want, I have three options for you. One: I’m concerned. If you want to call in sick tomorrow, you are welcome to stay here, and the guest bed is already all made up. Two: I can spank and flog you as hard as you like. Or three: we can go into the bedroom, and I can give you all the orgasms.” He set his empty glass on the coffee table. “The choice is entirely yours.” He rested his elbows on his knees as he gazed into my eyes, waiting for my response. 

I knew what I wanted. I knew what I needed, and none of these options were right. I needed a memory. I needed to feel loved. A fantasy just a moment, even if it was fake. Even if I would lay alone in my bed later that night, I needed a memory. Two souls woven together in the purest form of intimacy. Not sex but communion.

“Would it be all right if we just lay naked on the bed?” The question nearly caught in my throat, afraid of the rejection my mind was sure to come from him. “I’m not asking for sex.” I hurriedly added. “I don’t want you to feel used or think this is a booty call. It’s just…will you just lay naked with me and hold me?“ His features, already full of concern, softened, and he took me by hand, “Of course,” he said. “Anything you need.”

He already had the bed covers pulled down and bid me undress while he stepped to the restroom. The soft music gently soothed away the shadows as the tiny bedside lamp filled his room with a pink quartz glow. I slid into the man’s bed. The cool covers brushed my sensitive skin. Laying down, my heart instantly gave way, my body curling into a fetal position around the blankets and pillows. Storm clouds claimed my eyes, and tears coursed again. The storm had reformed and gathered. Thunder rumbled through my thoughts. I did not hear him enter the room but felt his heavy form press on the bed as he crawled behind me. He rolled me over to sob into the depths of his chest as he reclined back and crooned sweet words. His fingers brushed the damp curls away from the rivers raging down my cheeks.

The storm was shorter and, in the comfort and solace of his naked soul, began to drift away, and the coursing flood of emotions once more abated. I found my fingers tracing his body in the stillness. I felt my Inner Goddess near, subdued as she, too, grieved the memory of the past. Breathe, trace, breathe. We could do this, but like an unpredictable spring thunderstorm, I knew I was not finished. There would be another line of tears. The question was, could I hold the front back until I reached the isolation of my car? Breathe, trace, breathe, we focused. 

It was a great relief when I felt his glory twitch against my abdomen and thigh despite my soggy wet appearance. I did want him, but not as in our past encounters. Instead, I needed solace and the comfort of theoretical love. Without changing positions, we began to move together, finding a slow rhythm. His hands found my throat, questing to my chin as he tilted my wet face to meet his fond kisses. He allowed me to set the pace, taking cues as my body awoke to his masculinity.  

I rose and straddled his hips, stretching my body up as I felt his gaze travel down my body. His hands took turns caressing my breasts, down my narrow waist, spreading over my hips, then dragging his nails to trace a path back to my neck and shoulders. It felt odd to be so numb, as if I was slowly waking up. Or as if my conscience had been absent and was only now beginning to return and connect to a familiar body. 

His glory rested on his abdomen as I began to move my hips over him. I could feel my goddess moistening him as we slid over his thick erection. My Inner Goddess was gentle with me, not pushing or demanding but rather soft and tender. Allowing me space to reconnect and fall in love with her and the experience. 

Moistening his thumb, he brought it to my pearl. Then, slowly circling, his fingers applied pressure against my inner thigh. Still straddling him, I leaned back, my arms on his oak-like thighs to support my body. My orgasm flowed from his touch, feeling like a silk ribbon leisurely drawn over the skin. I sighed. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. 

His fingers around my hips called me forward until I was positioned at the top of the bed, his head beneath my body and his face firmly encased between my thighs. I wove my fingers into the iron filigree of the headboard. I did not even protest a little at this change of position. My body and Inner Goddess sought the intimacy of his acceptance in my most vulnerable of places.

His movements were slower than in our past encounters, though no less skilled. He was licking, tasting, and exploring. He allowed my body to come as it desired. A pulse swept through me when his hand reached down, and he began to stroke himself, his mouth unflinching in its dedication. I reached back to take hold, leaning across his body, giving his tongue even greater access to my goddess as I stroked his slick and girthy masterpiece. 

It was not enough. Turning around, I pressed the weight of my body against his broad chest, his hair tickling my nipples as I positioned myself over his prone form. I took him in my mouth and inhaled the warmth of his closeness and the strength of his masculine body. I gave the slightest wriggle, repositioning my hips and goddess over his face. We offered ourselves up and groaned into our shared pleasure. 

With tenderness, he rolled me off his body and arranged the waterproof blanket, sliding it under my hips. I still sniffled as I reclined back. The pillows emitted warmth from the heat they had stolen from his body. Tenderly he spread my legs and, with the artistry of an experienced lover, caressed my G-spot until my nectar flowed like a river in Spring. I was soaking up to my shoulders and splashing my breasts. Fingers still within me, he leaned down, placing a kiss on my moist lips. Tears formed and threatened to breach the barriers of my lashes. I clutched his body for support as he brought me two more orgasms, my nectar flowing with each one from his rippling fingers. These orgasms were softer, more of a release than sexual domination of my senses. 

My Inner Goddess gave a slight squirm at the sound of foil ripping, but I was still in a swirl of raw emotions. He moved across the bed, and my fingers reached to pull him nearer. He entered me with fluid familiarity, my body warming and stretching, pulling every inch of him deep within me. He began to move with penetrating thrusts. 

“No, no, not like this!” my Inner Goddess cried. This was not what we needed—no more pain. We needed closeness. My palms moved to his hips as I called and urged him to hold still for just one moment, please. I breathed in through my nose as, without removing himself, he leaned back onto his heels, covering my body with his hands. I relaxed into the moment, feeling his fullness complete me. I could do this. The tempest was not going to take this moment from me.

“I want to ask you something,” he said, taking my hand and kissing my palm. “I want to lay back and have you ride me again. Just do what feels good to you.” I nodded, unsure I could keep my voice steady if I verbally responded.

We repositioned, and I slid down on his girth. I cried out, the last of my barriers pierced with his fullness. This was the key to unleashing the true bombardment of the storm, the ultimate place of vulnerability and safety. Now completely unfettered, everything within me poured forth. In this storm, there was no anger, malice, or phoenix rising. Instead, unabashed grief and exhaustion were sent as hail ripping through me, pushing me down onto his chest under their cold weight. I could not stop, my wails filling the room and drowning even the refrain dancing around the room from the desk. I could not stop. Still entirely encasing his glory, my face was buried in the curve of his neck, and the strength of his arms protected me from the fiercest of the squall.

Having been held back for days, the hurricane refused to be restrained, and my tears now raced as torrents down countenance. My grief truly engulfed me this time. Unresolved heartbreak, sorrow, and loneliness pounded through each of my senses. His body began gently rocking beneath me, my arms wrapped under his shoulder blades and neck as I clung to my anchor. There was nothing I could do but hang on. My nails dug viciously into his collarbone, but he never flinched. My tears soaked his body and the pillow beneath his head. Once more, his voice solid and steady, crooned unintelligible words. My soul had found a safe place and held nothing back. He continued rocking me, caressing my hair with his fingertips, his boa-like arms never slacking as he crushed me to his breast. 

No storm lasts forever. The torrents of emotions slowed to whimpers as I sniffled against his drenched shoulder. My despair and woe finally easing, I breathed one last shuttering breath as I collected myself. I felt numb. No emotions. Nothing. The prairie of my soul was stark and naked in the aftermath of the storm’s violence.  

His arms transitioned to caressing my skin, once more dragging his nails across my body until I gradually felt his touch. At last, I heaved myself upright, still straddling his hips. He remained solid and strong within me despite the storm’s fury. I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and tried to dry the tear streaks caked to my face. I was worn out from the unstoppable anguish. 

My Inner Goddess gently prodded, slowly moving our hips into the rocking tempo he had started as he held me. It was a soothing motion. A breeze from the fan wafted delicately around my naked body as a tender lullaby was now audible from the Alexa on the small table. 

“Take your time,” he encouraged as I found my rhythm. My Inner Goddess guided my hips as we swirled and reveled in his fullness, feeling complete and whole, even if it was for such a short time. 

He made love to me with the tenderness of a man with a heart of gold. All movements were calculated for pleasure, yet meeting me in a place of brokenness and incredible pain. My orgasms from his swirling thumb on my pearl as I leaned back, or the ones from the tilt of his hips as his ridge thrust against my G-spot, were not my vocal and earth-shattering experiences, but that was okay. This is what I needed. Closeness, intimacy, love. Gentleness as I tried to find myself once more. 

He begged me to use his body as he relaxed into the pillows. He took my tremulous fingers in his hands and, one by one, kissed and sucked on them, pausing to nibble on the pad of my thumb. Recreating the thrilling sensation, I had so enjoyed two weeks previously. Our bodies flowed like water as I swayed above him. His hands held my waist steady before proceeding to trace down my hip, my thigh, and down my calf. His touch was a soothing ointment on the fractures of my heart, and I relaxed into his healing presence. I felt petite and even elegant under his artful caresses. 

“Your turn,” I murmured. I had nothing left. Even my Inner Goddess was silent as she sat shrouded in midnight gossamer.

“Are you sure?” He breathed. “I’ve got you. You can take your time.”

I soundlessly shook my head and adjusted to recline beside him. 

Sitting up, he oiled his fingers and brought them once more to my goddess. I was surprised, along with my Inner Goddess, by how little effort it took for him to siren my orgasms. I was thankful I had taken a moment to adjust the waterproof blanket beneath my waist. Maybe, we had a little more in us after all. I took his girth between my lips as he once more released my soul, body, and Inner Goddess.  

“Good girl.” He whispered over me. “But I think you have one more in you.” I started to protest, but his left fingers engaged, and my body responded on its own, my hips and breasts glimmering with the spray of not one but two more orgasms.

Releasing me, he oiled his ripe glory. Rising above me to straddle my frame, he took the remaining ointment and coated my sternum and both breasts, pausing to pinch and flick my wanton nipples. Easing himself down, he pressed his strength between my breasts, holding them firmly together to encase his erection as he slid back and forth, using them as his personal fleshlight. 

I gripped his hips, my knees bent against his buttocks to support and encourage him. I loved the feeling of being so tiny beneath him. I relished the feel of my oiled breasts and the sight of his swollen head as it pushed between the heavy curves of my breasts. 

He rose, stroking with his left while his right paw clutched my slick breast. He leaned against my knees for support as they pushed into his back, his giant frame still bridging over my body. His movements quickened, and I tilted my head up to receive him. A loud groan barrelled from his chest at the sight of my extended tongue. 

“Just like that, just like that…” I cheered. His creamy explosion frosted my lips splashing down to my breasts as he shouted his elation to the stars above. He was sweet as I licked my lips, and my Inner Goddess glowed. 

Removing the sopping waterproof blanket from the bed, he drew me once more into the curve of his body. His cheek rested against my forehead as I lay on his shoulder. His right arm circled my body, my right over his chest, while my legs monkeyed around his thigh and calf, holding on as if for dear life. Soft touches whispered words and stillness. My tears seemed to have spent themselves. I was relieved to simply be, existing at the moment. My stress and exhaustion were momentarily hushed. I no longer felt like I was drowning. I closed my eyes, letting my bruised heart soak up every ounce of his comforting masculinity. 

He had simply listened through my tears and blubbering, his touch his only advice. He had been a safe sounding board, and his arms a refuge against the storm of my mind. As I dressed, he asked if he could make a suggestion, and I eagerly assented. 

“You’ve talked to your boss, you’ve tried all these things. When was the last time you took a Mental Health day? A day off?” He asked. I paused to consider as I stepped into my dress. 

“September of 2021…I just had surgery and then came down with Covid.” I quickly flicked through my memories. Did an occasional Friday for a long weekend count? I mused. I had taken time off for occasional vacations. 

“That’s what I’m suggesting you consider. I know you said you feel like you have to go in tomorrow, and I respect that.” He stepped close and zipped me up the back. “I’m concerned. I know you’ve got this. I’m glad you called me instead of cutting yourself. Think about taking Friday off.” He cautiously advised. “Work will still be there, but I am concerned…take it or leave it. I just want you to know I care.” 

“We’re supposed to ‘work to live, not live to work,’ eh?” I sighed heavily, recalling my enormous workload.  

“No, we are not. I know you can’t step away from everything, but work is just work.”  He pulled me close, cradling my head against his naked pecs. “It will always be there.” I let my breath out and halfheartedly smiled as his chest hair tickled my cheek. 

“I will think about it,” I promised. Unsure how I would manage the logistics and doubled workload the following Monday. 

“That’s all I ask.” Then, releasing me, he added, “Please, text me when you get home.” And with that, he kissed me, and I stepped into the cool night air. 

I slept deeply, barely disturbing the sheets during my slumber. The memory of his touch and sweet companionship had briefly lifted a weight off my soul. 

I rose early and had just completed my yoga when my phone chirped. I was surprised to see his name appear on my screen. So far, our relationship has been kept to a minimum, with chatting and texting reserved for making plans for our subsequent encounter and noting our individual arrival home. This morning, he was checking on me, my night, and thanked me, once more, for reaching out. 

“Keep your head up, young lady.” He finished. 

My heart cheered. He had lent me his strength and courage, sheltering me amid my turmoil. Nothing was fixed or changed, but that wasn’t the point. I didn’t need a savior or a knight in shining armor. I needed a friend, a companion. He had acknowledged my needs and willingly stepped into the void, meeting me in my place of darkness. His presence offered me refuge and safety while I fell apart and pulled myself back together. 

I smiled as I responded. I was going to keep my head up. Today was going to be a good day. 

Until next time, XO Elsie