BordeauxBlack
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BB's dirty thoughts, Jun.1
🕑 Added 2023-06-17 02:29:51 +0000 UTCBuckle up, Blacklisters, this one is straight from the heart and groin, raw and still open like a fresh wound.
There is this woman. Let's call her Zee. That's not her name, but her anonymity deserves to be protected. Safe to say, it's no one that hangs around these parts.
Many, many years ago, I want to say 9? We had a burgeoning relationship. She and I were both seeing a different woman, independently of one another (yes, it's a *Big Gay Drama* and a triangle, but don't worry, it all has a happy ending). Now, Zee and this other woman had an on again off again for YEARS and years before her and I were a thing, and one day, she decided she wanted to be exclusive with Zee, and Zee agreed.
I may be a debauched hedonist, but I am also a very moral woman; if you ask me to stand in the way of love, I could not. I wasn't even mad; my heart was broken, but it was an extremely fair breakup handled with the utmost of maturity and compassion. Who was I to stand between them- Zee still loved me, but their relationship was older, to be respected. I wanted to, but... it would have made me an asshole. She'd made her choice, and I genuinely wanted her to be happy. Why wouldn't I; I loved her, truly, for who she was, and her happiness was the most important thing.
Now, they've LONG since parted ways, and after an appropriate grieving period, Zee and I returned to being friends. We got on wildly before the relationship, and since then, we've been friends, if not terribly close.
Blacklisters: part of the reason for this is, while I don't think of her Every Waking Moment, she's definitely The One That Got Away. The bulk of my relationship experience is with men, and for a woman to have gotten in there, she had to be something truly special...
...and dear reader, she was. So, because I cannot tell her, or anyone else in our lives, I'm going to tell You.
I remember the way she Smelled. Like chypre. Old dry bourbon, musky florals, cedar and the tinniest kiss of citrus, but heavy. Heavy like her thick lashes, curving hips, her poetic hand, her soul. We wrote together. Poems to each other, yes, but we manufactured romances and characters that fell for each other, in ways that acquainted us with different aspects of our souls with each other, and that drew us further and further into love. Her eyes were the heart of cedar, and they lit like a Forest fire when she was pleasured. The makeouts were UNBEARABLY scalding. It wouldn't matter if I came there in the car with her- I'd go home, think about it, and flood myself a few times more.
Though she let me lead, she was taller than I (yes that means she's Stupid tall) and dear reader, tall women are fucking Hot. Broad shoulders, a slim waist, broad lips and high cheekbones that made her the lovechild of Julia Roberts and a Dryad. And she *could keep up with me*. She was red, red, wine red, and RED. She was innovatively brilliant, and carried this intense capacity for love, the depth of passion I've been fortunate enough to meet in Precious Rare Few Humans. She was unapologetic, loud, pierced, spunky, sweet, and Wild. She could craft a love note, drip a whisper that left panties soaking, or touch you in a way that made you feel like everything Could be right with the world, as long as she was there. Magnificent fucking rack, neck, hands.
I am telling you this anguish now, sweet reader, because after many years of not seeing her, I'm going to see her again. She now goes to my sword school. There is no room for her in my romantic life and I have NO idea what's going on her world right now anyway, but... I won't let it be awkward. Though women Can undo me, I know how to be a suave motherfucker, and how to focus on my own training. I know how to not make her life hard, and how to avoid Making It Weird. I don't fear awkwardness.
I fear the dimly lit torch I've carried, growing hot again. Which, if it happens... then it happens, but fucking christ, Blacklisters, she was the most intelligent, most beautiful, most interesting and most down to earth woman I'd ever fallen in love with, and even eight years couldn't kill that. YOU meet an actual fucking goddess of passion, creativity, lust and intelligence and not get nine kinds of fucked up over her. XD
Had to get that out of my head.
Comments
Albin
Some women will indeed have a place in one's heart and mind for all eternity, relatively small as it may be, even if they no longer or rarely are a part of one's life. The frequency of thoughts they elicit might fade, but they are always there, emerging once in a while. Memories etched into the very essence of one's brain. Some women from many years past, some more recent. And some you know for certain that no matter what the future hold will occupy a space to the end of days. She sounds truly remarkable. And must surely be to to such an extent capture the attentions of one as remarkable as you. I sincerely hope all goes well. Your handling of the situation in the past is a prime example of one of the multifarious reasons why I like you, you're wonderfully good person. Thanks for sharing something so personal <3
To women! Long may they fuck us up. *clink*
Such a strange thing it can be. Mine has been roughly thirty years in the past and yet to this day I still recognize the smell of her favorite perfume, Paris, instantly. And then the memories creep in. Her laugh. Her smile. The funny little noise she'd make when I'd kiss her neck. I still on occasion find myself wondering what she's been up to after all these years. But I can't compare to what you've described. Sounds down right spiritual
