Archive | August, 2011

Oh The Pain.

29 Aug

Horrible, unimaginable pain.

  • I gave birth to two kids without epidurals.  That’s right, this bitch did it naturally (except for a small dose of narcotics with one).  I didn’t cry.
  • I had a skin graft procedure done, where the donor skin was taken from my thighs.  It hurt so bad I crumbled to the floor when I tried to walk.  I didn’t cry.
  • After one of my children I had to have an emergency procedure done in my uterus.  Pain meds had not kicked in.  I screamed once or twice, but I didn’t cry.

Two nights ago my shoulder popped out, yet again, but this time it did not relocate properly.  Not only did I scream, I cried.  I cried like a little bitch.  Horrible, gut-wrenching sobs for a pain I had never felt before.  I called my doctor.  I am not sure he understood one word I said, but he told me to go to the ED.

I tried calling everyone I knew.  My girl Sunday had taken a sleeping pill.  She was out.  Most of my friends are on the same firefighting schedule, and they were all at work.  And as a firefighter/paramedic, I just could not call an ambulance.  This just simply is not done.  (Fucking ree-tahrd-ed, right??  I can’t explain it.  You just don’t.)

I called my last resort.  M.  He tells me he still loves me, and now it was time to step up.  And I was incredibly desperate.  M, please.  I need to go to the hospital.  Please.  I can’t drive, and I have tried everyone else.

Response?  I’m tied up.

I whispered I hate you and hung up the phone.  I immediately received a text that said: I’m so sorry.

I never responded.

I pulled myself together the best I could, and I drove myself to the hospital.  My roommate met me there when he got off work.  (I have yet to introduce you to my roomie.  I don’t think his hetero status is guaranteed, so I will name him Will.  He actually calls me Grace.  *eyeroll*)

I spent four and a half hours in the emergency department.  I was properly medicated, fixed, and sent home.  I have an appointment with a surgeon tomorrow.

I don’t hate him.  I hate me for loving him…and in my warped mind it is just easier to hate him.  I hate the fact I was desperate and needed to call and ask for help.  I hate the fact I stooped to his level and told him I hated him.  I hate that it hurt when he turned me down in my moment of need.  But it told me everything that I needed to know.

Fucking DONE.

I just wish the shoulder was done.  *sigh*

Love, Esme

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Dating On Hold?? Probably…

24 Aug

So despite the fact that I had my heart ripped out of my chest, friends have been trying to talk me into dating again.  I’m still struggling with that decision.  It just feels wrong to date when my heart belongs to someone else.  Being further removed from the situation, I understand their sentiment.  No one wants to see their girlfriend in pain.  What better way to get over a man than to find a new one?  As much as I am fighting kicking and screaming, I have started to see their point.  Not that I agreed to date, but I saw their point.

It’s like Karma has decided that I am not ready to date.  OK, so I am probably reaching here, but I have to tell myself these things to make me feel better 😉

I went to the doctors the other day, and I was told the one thing I DID NOT want to hear.  Esme, you need surgery.  That shoulder is just not getting better.

Fuck fuck fuck shit FUCK.  I feel like I am saying these words a lot lately.  Surgery??  I don’t have time for surgery!  The only family I have in this state are my kids.  Shoulder surgery would leave me incapacitated for weeks.  My mom will come out for the first week, it’s all she can take off of work.  So now I have to figure shit out I didn’t think I had to figure out.  Thank God I have some great friends.

I also have some issues going on with the ex-husband as well (controlling abusive PRICK.  He started shit, I’m ending it).  Things I just am not going to blog about.  But basically, the last two weeks have been bad news after bad news after bad news.  I have cried more in the last two weeks than I have the last year.  I blame pain medicine.  That shit turns me into a bitch and depresses me.

So here is my hope.  I have the surgery, and after a realistic time to heal, I am back at 100%.  I can finally get off the pain medicine and get my sassy self back.  Things with my ex work out the way they are supposed to.  That someday soon I will meet Mr.  Tall Dark and Handsome.

I think that none of this is too much to ask.

Oh, and to get laid.  I’d really like to get laid right about now.

Love, Esme

I Was Curious. So Shoot Me.

19 Aug

I was going to preface this entry with a don’t judge me clause, but fuck it.  I’M judging me.  Sooo…do what you must.

So when it came to M, and the now infamous phone call, I did what I needed to do to make myself better.  I cried for a day (or two).  I drank a whole bottle of red wine and cussed him out to whomever would listen.  I hurt my shoulder again (don’t knock it…it took my mind off of him!)  He hasn’t been the first thing on my mind when I woke up in the morning.  Definitely still not thinking about dating, but I was better.

Until…

A couple of days ago, around noon, my phone rang.  M’s name popped up on my screen.  I had really struggled with deleting it, but I didn’t.  I told myself it was in case I needed my mechanic down the road.  I can talk myself into just about anything…it’s a talent…

So I answer the phone.  Hello?  No answer.  Heeellllloooo?  Still no answer.
E:  M, I know it’s you.  Why are you calling me?
M:  I have a favor to ask you.
E:  So ask (I figured it was going to be the money I owed him for the parts for my car).
M:  Never mind.  You won’t do it.
E:  Why don’t you ask, and then I will tell you if I will do it or not.
M:  It’s OK, forget I asked.  Just go do what you were going to do today.  I will figure something else out.
E:  JUST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT!
M:  I have to go to XYZ to pick up a truck I bought.  And I was wondering if you want to go with me.

Silence

M:  I will pay for everything.  Food, gas, a room if we can’t drive anymore.  I thought I would ask you, we could drive and talk.  But if you don’t want to, I understand.
E:  Ummm…I’ll go.
M:  You will?  OK, I will call you in an hour.

I hung up the phone and contemplated what I had just agreed to.  It’s a nine-hour drive.  One-way.  Before I could get too far into those thoughts, M called again.

Esme, is this something you can do?  Will you be OK being in the car with me, being around me?  I don’t want things to get worse between us.  But I would like to see you.

I assured him I will be fine, and that this is mostly fueled by the fact I really needed something to do.  Being stuck in my house with one good arm and pain meds isn’t as much fun as it sounds.  Shocking, I know.  I think I would have gone with the Devil.  And I was wondering if that was what I was indeed doing.

I packed a small overnight bag, just in case.  I drove to his place, pulled into his driveway, and took a deep breath.  This is just a trip with a friend.  This is just a trip with a friend.  This is just a trip with a friend.  My car door opened, startling me out of my centering-my-chi rant.  I looked up at the intruder, and a pair of light green eyes were smiling down at me.  M helped me out of my truck, then grabbed my bag from the back.  He directed me to his car.  I stopped and stared at the front seat, working up my courage.  Esme, are you alright?  I assured him I was good.  I got in, buckled up, and we set off.

We fell into conversation very easily.  We talked, we laughed.  The silences were not uncomfortable, but relaxing.  We talked like we haven’t since we met each other.  I asked about his family, and we talked about mine.  We talked about our childhoods.  We talked about politics and religion. We talked about a friend of his that has been cheating on his girlfriend for months.

E:  Do you think C is going to go straight?
M:  He says he is.
E:  Do you think you could go straight?  (I was teasing when I said this…smile on my face and all.  I know it isn’t something to tease about, but the situation is just fucked up.  I have to laugh about it).
M:  I doubt it.  I think about you all the time.

I couldn’t respond to this, so I kept silent and looked out the window.  M put his hand on my leg, and we drove in silence for a bit.

E:  I was really surprised to hear from you today, M.  Even more surprised you asked me along on this little trip.
M:  I’m surprised, too.
E:  Are you glad, too?
M:  Very much so.  I knew we could get along.  I knew we would laugh and have fun.  And I am glad I got to see you.

Occasionally the talk would come back to us, but it was never anything heavy.  It was truly just an easy-going drive.  We stopped for dinner and joked about how we looked like we were on the edge of Deliverance.  We laughed when a man in his sixties tried to pick me up.  A small disaster struck when I was walking out of a gas station. Someone slammed the door in my face-I thought they had seen me and would hold it open.  NOPE.  I put out my arms to avoid getting my nose broken, and my shoulder popped out.  DAMN…I knew I should have worn my sling.  I yelled out and doubled over in pain.  M heard me and ran over from his car.  He tried to help me stand, but fuck if he didn’t grab the wrong shoulder.  He inadvertently popped it back in, causing another yelp of pain.  Since I wasn’t going to have to drive for another four hours, I took some pain medicine and relaxed while he drove.

We finally picked up his new truck after the 23 year-old barely dressed hottie he bought it from tried to cause drama.  Small tangent here:  When I was 23 I wore clothes, and didn’t offer sexual favors for money.  But I digress.

By the time we hit the road, it was after one in the morning.  My shoulder was hurting me, I was tired, and we were still seven hours from home.  I finally texted him:  I need to stop.

After some back and forth, I agreed to drive another half hour to a college town, where hotels would probably be cheaper.  We found a small place, and I fell into bed fully dressed.  M stripped down to his boxer-briefs (way sexy, might I add), and climbed in next to me.  I made no move toward him, even when he put his hand on my hip.  Are you alright, E?  I told him I was, that I was just exhausted.  I wanted to turn around, and take cover under his arms.  But I didn’t.  Instead I climbed out of bed and put on my pajamas.  I got back under the covers, my back toward him.  His hand found his way back to my hip.  I sighed, and snuggled further into the bed.  He wrapped his arm around my waist and slammed me into his chest.  I wiggled to make myself comfortable, and that was the kiss of death.  I don’t need to write what happened next.

The next morning we got up, showered, dressed, and headed out on our way.  An hour into the drive we stopped for breakfast/lunch.  After we ordered our food, I took a deep breath and dove right in.

E:  Soo…what happens next?
M:  I don’t know.
E:  We really crossed a line last night.
M:  I did?
E:  No, we.  I could have said no.  I didn’t.  I’m just as much at fault as you are.
M:  This is true.  I don’t know what’s next.  I know I love you.  I know I want to spend time with you.  I am just having a hard time making it work.
E:  You made so many promises to me before.  And none you delivered on.  I have to wonder if you have been telling me what you think I want to hear, or the truth.
M:  Do you think I lied to you?
E:  I didn’t say that.
M:  I don’t need to lie to you to get sex.  I can get laid if that’s what you want to hear (he was angry).
E:  I put my hands on the table, leaned forward, and got in his face.  I just wanted to know if what you said was genuine.  And this is a hell of a lot more than just sex to you, so don’t you DARE sit there and tell me that it’s JUST.  SEX. I can get laid just as easy as you can.

M looked at me for a long minute, measuring my reaction.

M:  You’re right, Esme.  It isn’t just sex.  It’s a lot more than sex.  And that is what makes it so hard.  I want to have more time to spend with you.  I want to do things with you.  It hurts me when you ask when I can see you again, knowing I have next to no free time.  I thought it was better if I just cut you out all together.  It didn’t work.  What is it you want?
E:  I want you to not call me tomorrow and tell me you can’t do this anymore.
M:  I won’t.
E:  And I want no more promises, unless you intend to keep them.
M:  I understand.
E:  And I am not saying I am down with this anymore.  I’m not sure I can do it.  I like having you in my life.  I like that we get along.  I like the way I feel when I am around you.  But I also liked that you WEREN’T around all the time.  I liked that I could have my own life without you.  I liked that you don’t question what I am doing.  I was OK with all of it.  And you killed it.
M:  I know.  I still can’t promise you time.
E:  I know you are busy.  That was never an issue.
M:  How about this.  What if we just take it as it comes?  What if we can just agree to be relaxed about it?  Take a ‘wait-and-see’ approach?
E:  As long as you know that I won’t sit around and wait for you.  I’m not waiting for you to call.  And I am done waiting for you to figure out your shit.  If you can understand that, then we are all good.
M:  I do love you.

I just smiled, and finished my meal.  I love him, too, but I couldn’t tell him.  I’m not sure if he caught that or not.

M:  I still want to take you out for that dinner.  As long as you want to go.
E:  We will see.
M:  And you know you still owe me for the work I did on your car.
E:  I am not paying you for that.
M:  What?  I don’t think I heard you right.
E:  Yes you did.  I am not paying you.  I cried over you.  NOT PAYING.
M:  Is that how it’s going to be?  I do work on your car, then you cry so you don’t have to pay?  I see how it is.
E:  Glad we have an understanding.

We finished the drive without incident.  By the time I drove his new truck into his driveway, I was in tears.  My shoulder was so incredibly painful.  He loaded my bags into my truck, and gave me a long hug.

M:  I am so glad I asked you to come.  And I am so glad you went with me.  I had a great time.  I truly did.

I was in so much pain that I could do nothing but give a half-smile.  I didn’t even say good-bye. I left and drove straight home.  After I was properly medicated, I texted him and apologized for my bitchiness.  I also told him I had a great time as well.

His response?  You’re not, and I’m glad.

That made me smile.

Well…shit.  Just…shit.

Love, Esme

Nothing Gets Over A Heart-break Like…

16 Aug

Physical pain??  Yep.

Remember the shoulder injury I wrote about last month?  Well, all was going well.  I had a cortisone injection recently, and it worked pretty well.  I was going to PT, I thought it was going well.

Until I heard, and felt, that dry-heave inducing POP.

Shit fuck fuck shit FUCK!

So here I am, back on a high dose of pain meds and my arm that is supposed to be in a sling.  I am waiting for my doctor to try to fit me in before next Monday.  This hurts.  This sucks.  And I am afraid that I am facing down surgery.  Since it happened again, it may happen yet again.

So lesson is: physical pain and high doses of pain meds equals relief from heart-break.  Who new??

Love, Esme

This Just Hurts

13 Aug

I have tried repeatedly to write this post.  I have tried being snarky, I have tried being funny, and I have tried being blase.  It hasn’t worked.  I don’t know what else to do but be honest, and pour my heart out.  This post is more for me then you all, but you are definitely welcome to read along.

Two year ago, almost exactly, M walked into my life.  The gorgeous tall, blond-haired green-eyed Adonis walked into my life.  He walked in, sat down, and has been there ever since.  We dated for a short time.  When I was injured in the line of duty, he was the reason I ate twice a day.  He would come over and carry me to bed.  He saw to my basic needs without complaint.  He made me smile.

A couple of months into it, I stopped hearing from him.  It hurt, but not worth crying over.  I moved on.  30 days later, I got an unexpected phone call from him.  An ex was pregnant, I didn’t deserve him dropping me like that, could we please go out and talk about it.  Etc etc.

I don’t think we ever actually ‘dated’ again, but a few months later we started a sexual relationship.  But it was different than any other FB I had.  He would show up at my door at night and tell me to get dressed-we are going out.  He would take me to dinner, and not come in afterwards.  When we went out, his eyes were on me-even though he was constantly hit on.  He fought a guy in a bar who grabbed my ass.  We were, for all intents and purposes, dating.  But neither of us would admit it, and neither of us were faithful.  Neither of us wanted to be.  I was newly divorced, I had no desire to be tied down.  He was 27, and he was much more into the playboy lifestyle.  It was a perfect match.

Eventually, both of us started dating.  Him, the girl he became engaged to, and me a plethora of boys.  In the beginning of his relationship with this girl, he was unfaithful.  And that was with me.  I didn’t date anyone seriously, so I was doing who, and what, I wanted to.  The tide turned about 8 months into this.

He told me to not go on another date.  Please E, he said, just give me some time.  I want you, you belong with me.  Let’s figure this out.  That was the last thing I wanted-or needed-to hear.  I didn’t want to belong to anyone.  I didn’t want to wait for anyone.  I wanted to live my life and have fun.  I brushed him off.  Conversation over.

Our ‘meetings’ became few and far between.  I continued to date, he continued to struggle with his relationship.  One night, when we did meet up, he threw this out at me: I’m thinking about getting engaged.  I just feel like it’s the next step.  Unless you can give me a good reason not to.  For some reason, that news affected me, but I didn’t know why.  I told him he shouldn’t do it unless he was sure.  Then I let the matter drop.  I spent no time exploring that feeling.

Our time together became non-existent after that.  I had no desire to mess around with someone who was wanting to get serious with someone else.  Time passed, we talked some, but didn’t cross paths until it was time for me to move.

I brought my car to M, and he did some work on it.  I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him, and the heaviness out of my heart. He caught me staring a few times, and would just give me a knowing smile.  We went inside for a drink when he was done, and of course the conversation steered toward us.  You know, M, I am sure going to miss you.  He came over to where I was sitting, and put his hand on my cheek.  I think this is SUCH a personal move, and a tear ran down my cheek.  He leaned in and kissed me, and then we had some good-bye fun.

Throughout my absence, we would occasionally talk and text.  When he let me know he got engaged, it was like a knife through my heart.  I didn’t know what to do with that feeling.  I never expected to see him again, so I pushed it to the side.  I congratulated him, and I braced myself to never hear from him again.

I didn’t hear from M for months,  and then the texts started up again.  I’m guessing right around the time he realized he made a mistake in getting engaged.  When are you coming for a visit?  Any chance you are moving back?  When I knew I was moving back, I let him know.  Was I warning him?  Was I warning myself?  What did I accomplish by telling him this?  I could have not told him, come back, and just lived my life.  Maybe I should have done just that.

A couple of months before I moved back, I came to visit for St. Pats.  He caught wind of my visit, and tried to get me to see him.  I was so conflicted.  I wanted, with every ounce of my being, to run to him.  But I didn’t.  I don’t know why, but I didn’t.

So I move, and one of the first people I tell is M.  But I don’t see him until I have car problems.  When I do see him, I am shocked.  I have NEVER seen him so unhappy.  It’s like the light went out in him.  It broke a little piece of my heart.  I hated to see him like this, and I called him on it.  M, what is going on?  This isn’t you.  Why are you so unhappy?  M smiled sadly, and told me he wasn’t unhappy, but he was just living.  Surviving.  There was no point in arguing.  He didn’t want to hear it, and I was wasting my breath.

We started seeing each other again.  I wrote about this, we all know it.  One of my concerns was getting dragged into his unhappiness.

His unhappiness with his life lead to my heart-break.  It lead to the I can’t do this anymore.  It lead to You are such an amazing, special person, and you don’t deserve what I am doing to you.  It lead to When I am with you, it is just magic.  And I need to figure this out.  It lead to I didn’t know I felt SO STRONGLY for you.  It also lead to I am so incredibly unhappy with my life, and I didn’t realize it until you came into my life and mixed it all up.

I sat and listened to him with tears running down my face.  Please don’t cry, Esme.  I am not worth your tears.  Is this what you want?  Really?  Look what I asked of you!!  Why were you OK with this?  I feel like such a SHIT for putting this on you.  I should have dealt with my shit before I EVER talked to you about any of this.  I thought I could have the best of both worlds, but I can’t.  I need to figure out my life first.  And I need to do it without being pulled so many directions.

All I could do was sit and listen.  What do you say to this?  No, I’m not letting you leave?

E: You know, M, that my biggest regret was not fighting for you when you started dating the fiancée.  I am so angry at myself for not responding when you told me how you felt.  I am so mad at myself for not telling you how I felt when you told me you were engaged.
M: Why didn’t you?  Why didn’t you tell me?
E: Is there a good answer for that?  I wasn’t ready for it.  I also thought you were unobtainable.  Out of my league.
M: I don’t get why you thought I was unobtainable.  I wasn’t.  I just needed to hear it from you, and I didn’t.  You left, I never thought I would see you again, so I moved on.  I did what I thought was the best thing.

(As I recounted this convo for my mom, she got so angry.  He should have fought for you harder, instead of settling.  That’s what he did…he couldn’t have the best thing in his life, so he settled.  Gotta love moms.)

E: Don’t put that on me, M.  Just because I left doesn’t mean you had to get engaged to someone you didn’t truly want.  Don’t do that to me.

We talked a little more.  Well, he talked and I cried.  All he did was reiterate everything he had already said.  I couldn’t listen to him anymore.

E: Is all of this happening because I never told you I love you?
M: What?  No!  Esme, I know you love me.  I can see it in your eyes.  Your smile.  Your touch.  I’m not lying when I told you that you are special.  That I love you.  You never had to say it.  Because I knew.  And you know that I love you.  You know this.  Please tell me you know this.

I nodded my head.  I do know.

M: I just have to figure this out.  I have to figure out what is good for me.  Christ, E, I am thirty years old and I have nothing figured out.

I said OK.  What else can you say?  I said everything that was in my heart.  I let him know how I felt.  There is no mistaking where I am coming from.

Later that day I received a text message from him: I do love you.  Don’t give up on me.  Ever.

I spent two days crying on and off.  I am angry at myself for feeling like this.  I have so many doubts, because ingrained in my very existence is the fact guys lie.  And play games.  M knows this about me, and I got a random text message yesterday: You are not unlovable.  The problem lies with me.

My girl Sunday is pretty unsympathetic.  Did you really think this wouldn’t happen?  Did you expect him to make you happy?  Go date and find someone else.

Not what I want, or need, to hear right now.  And she was not the only one to tell me to go date.  Let me say right here, right now-I DON’T WANT TO FUCKING DATE RIGHT NOW!!  The thought of dating makes my stomach turn.  I am not going to date when my heart clearly belongs to someone else.  Don’t tell me to date.  Please.

And I don’t need the negativity.  I am fully aware it was a fucked up situation.  As much as I tried to be casual about it, I felt myself getting sucked in.  Before I went into it I KNEW I had strong feelings for him.  What did I expect?  I don’t know.  Maybe I expected to right the wrong from all of that time ago.  Maybe I felt that, even though I lost him, I could still have him in a small way.  Could still have him in my life.

What do I think will happen?  I think his sense of family will lead him to go into a marriage he doesn’t want.  If I hear from him again, I think it will be down the road, after he is so fucking miserable that he will be looking for a distraction.

Of course, it all seems so easy to me, or to anyone that may be on the outside looking in.

Godammit I love this guy.  How do I deal with this?

A Broken Heart

11 Aug

Yesterday…I saw the love in M’s actions.  For the first time, with my own eyes.
Yesterday…M held my hand while I had a painful procedure done.
Yesterday…M let me use his strength while I leaned on him and slept.
Yesterday…we finalized plans for a romantic night this coming up week.

Today…M told me he can’t do it anymore.
Today…M told me he couldn’t give me what I deserved.
Today…I have spent all day crying, not realizing why this has hurt me so bad.
Tonight…I have realized I have the capacity to love.  And I never want to feel this hurt again.

Love, Esme

Today…I’m Owing Allegiance To That Bad Girl Fairy.

3 Aug

So as I was writing my quick little post last night, Medic was indeed on his way over.  I shut off the computer, and laid on my bed-settling in for the wait.  A minute later, my phone chirped with one word: Here.

I can’t even begin to explain the rush I felt when I read those words.  I jumped off the bed and tripped over my laptop cord.  I tried to right myself, and succeeded in knocking crap off my dresser.  I tripped going down the stairs and I was out of breath when I opened the door.  Damn…but the promise of great sex turns me into a teenage girl.

There he stood wearing a fire department t-shirt and shorts.  He had a ball cap on backwards, and I can tell his head was freshly shaved.  He was wearing glasses, which I had never seen.  It only added to his sex appeal.

I hugged him when he stepped in the door.  What I wanted to do was throw him against the wall, rip of his clothes and go to town.  But I refrained.  I’m not sure what his comfort zone is.

We migrated up to my room, watched some TV, and talked about his vacation.  I noticed that he kept staring at me when he thought I wasn’t looking.  Not in a creepy way, but in an ‘I have to look at her awesomeness’ way.  An ‘I’m gonna rock her fucking world’ way.  An ‘I’m gonna get up the nerve in just a minute’ way.  Yes, all of those looks rolled into one.  I know I should have taken pity on him and just kissed him.  I should have pounced like the cougar (or whatever I am called) I am.  But I just couldn’t.  Medic just looked so damn adorable trying to plan his next move.  I was a little puzzled by his hesitancy, as he has already rocked my world twice, but maybe this is where the age thing comes into play.  I wanted to pounce on him as soon as I saw him.  He had to be comfortable.  Girl.

I was laying on my massive California king bed, and he was leaning over me trying to look intimidating with his new haircut.

M: See?  I can do it.  Intimidating.  Insert completely hysterical constipated look here.
E: *Laughing* Sorry Medic, but no.
M: After repeated tries. Esme!  If you weren’t laughing, I could do it!!  Stop it!
E: OK…I’m centering my chi.  OK, OK.  Try now.  I covered my head with my quilt.

Medic moved the quilt back from my head and looked into my eyes.  NOW he looked intimidating.  My breath caught in my throat as his gaze lowered to my lips.  His eyelids slowly closed as he leaned in for one spectacular kiss.

As soon as his mouth touched mine, I threw my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss.  I’m not sure it he wanted to take it slow, but if he did I killed it.  I wanted to feel his weight on me.  I wanted to run my hands on his strong chest.  I wanted to rake my nails on his back.  I wanted to own him.  And I wanted him to own me.

Clothes quickly got in the way, and we were clawing at each other trying to get them off.  He finally had enough sense to climb off and get undressed.  I, however, watched him instead of undressing myself.  I got to look at the fine specimen that was mine for the night.  I licked my lips in anticipation.

He crawled back over to me on the other side of the bed.  I had propped myself up on my elbows to watch him.  He had that intimidating look again, and it did nothing but turn me on even more.  He stopped just short of me.  He weaved his fingers through my hair, closed his fist, and yanked my head back exposing my throat.  It was a sexy, hot, the right amount of rough, and it was on.

Medic, again, did not disappoint.  He thrived on making me moan, making me yell out.  He trailed the beads of sweat running down my back with his fingers. He rained kisses all over my body.  He tested my limits, but did so respectfully.  He talked dirty, and I loved it.  I ran my nails down his back and across his ass.  I bit his shoulder, marking my territory.  It was primal.  It was needed.  And it was mine.

Afterward, we lay entwined on the bed.  My quilt on the floor, my sheets entangled in our legs.  My head was on Medic’s chest, I could feel his heart race and his breath coming fast.  My hair was damp, clinging to our bodies.  I was breathing hard and I could only utter one word: WOW.

M: You weren’t too bad yourself.
E: You did all the work today…if I wasn’t ‘too bad’, that is a direct reflection on you and your skill.

Medic chuckled and pulled me in for a kiss.  Our post-sex bedroom talk consisted of our sexual boundaries and what each of us wants to try.  We talked about our craziest sexual experience.  I finally rolled over and fell asleep with a smile on my face.

At six in the morning, Medic’s alarm went off.  He searched for his clothes and got dressed.

E: You know…one of these days we will be smart enough to do this when you don’t have to get up for work the next morning at the ass-crack of dawn.  You are fucking killing me.
M: I know.  I’m killing myself.  I will see you later.

I waved him out of my bedroom and heard him leave.  I sighed, and closed my eyes as memories of the night before assaulted my senses.

Love, Esme