Nay, nay.
Not those ones.
Oh I would totally do that, I just forget to.
I even asked Young Un if I could snap one with him looking up at me from between my legs, of course he said yes, Scorpio. I just forgot.
Probably because we had just had sex.
I learned how to selfie last summer. I had no idea how people did that, with their phones. And lo the Angel of the Lord said ‘let there be Instagram, and there were filters and it was good amen’.
I went a little overboard, One-a-Day, like vitamins.
Makes me feel good, why not.
Laying in Sunday’s bed, freshly fucked, both of us on our phones.
(We can turn on a dime from honeymoon to old and married. It’s pretty cute.)
I am throwing an X Pro II filter on a pic I took while he was in the shower. It was not dirty (out of context) no nip slip.
“Beautiful” he says, “send it to me”.
I acquiesced to his request, and I confessed, I had been doing it for a while now.
I love that lightness that comes from confession, and your secret gets you a smile.
“Show me.”
He knew
He had to have known.
He is both on my Instagram, and it is His skinny mirror.
He asked me, in the same conversation, if I had pictures of me on my Facebook page.
“Nothing recognizable really, why?”
“You are a good writer, you don’t need people paying attention to you for anything other than your words”.
His compliments are like those pictures you have to stare at and relax your eyes, then suddenly, a unicorn where before there were just pretty colors.
And now this. I am nothing if not a brat.
The first was an accident, looked left whilst retrieving my clothes and Viola. I had my phone in my hand. It’s a really good mirror. Then it became habit. Even when my legs were shaking too bad to get out of bed. It wasn’t the mirror making my lips fuller, my cheeks flushed, my hair cascade in a Lana del Rey-esque waterfall over the pillow, or my eyes sparkling like someone hid diamonds in there.
It’s the sex.
Makes me glow like one of those plastic ceiling stars if you left it ON the sun for about an hour.
It’s how I charge.
I spent a chunk of change on face cream and cleansers yesterday. Caught myself chuckling as I put it all away, “I don’t need this, I need to get laid”.
Joan Crawford said “I need sex for a clear complexion, but I would rather do it for love”. I chose to take the quote in whatever context suits me, verbatim is just fine.
I have always loved sex.
Absolute death sentence for a pretty girl growing up in a tiny town. I moved to get away from my reputation, but she and shame ended up in my luggage, been carrying that around for years.
Not now.
I picked up that man mentality somewhere years ago. That adage about sex and pizza. Even if it’s bad*…it’s still pizza.
Except I don’t need pizza.
Sex I need, more than food, less than oxygen.
Like sunshine, summer and swimming. Just happier there.
I guess that makes me a succubus, except I leave them glowing too.
I mentioned in “Bringing Home the Gold” that he and I would get stopped a lot, out in public. I am starting to glean, it wasn’t his beard, or my tits. We were radiant, well fed.
The new one had me shining like the Stella Polaris.
I pride myself on not lying, came the closest in 1000 days out one night with him. Too many strangers saying too many things.
“This happens” I said, “sorry”.
Yes, people often ask me for directions, the time etc. but nothing like when I am with him.
I now know how my porch light feels when moths beating themselves against it.
*Sometimes it goes the other way too. (True Romance)
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. (Isaac Newton)
Stay tuned for tales my encounters with the soul sucking wallet draining incubi.
Love. This.
thanks mama!