November 19, 2015

Ava,

I swam with a pod of southern right whales yesterday. A mother and her calf. The calf came right up to me and swam around me, and I felt the soul of the animal. It was a beautiful moment, my own curiosity mirrored by that of the baby whale.

I am adrift. I am a whale scudding alone through the deeps, surfacing for breath now and again, far from anyone, far from land, from my own kind or any other. Who is there to know my thoughts? Who is there to hear my sighs in the night?

No one.

I wonder, in the sleepless hours of starlit predawn, what you are doing. What you are thinking, what you are feeling? Do you miss me? Do you long for me?

Do you still mourn?

Do you still cry yourself to sleep?

Do you touch yourself and wish it was my touch? I cannot indulge in even that. Even self-pleasure falls flat without you, Ava.

I am not alone on the boat any longer. It is a confusing thing, to have others present, but to still feel so utterly alone. I cannot speak of you, cannot even think of Henry—to write that name, to type those five letters…it is raw agony. Impossible to speak of it, even to Jonny, who knows everything. Or nearly everything.

He does not know that I dream of you. That when I do manage sleep, I wake having dreamed of you. Just this past night—it is five in the morning as I write this, and I am awake for the day, sitting on the trampoline with my laptop, watching the sky lighten—I dreamed of you. Do you want to know?

It was a bizarre, erotic dream.

It began with an all-pervading sense of blue—blueness. Soft, delicate, warm azure. The color of ocean water lapping in an inlet somewhere on the coast of Bermuda, Hog Bay, perhaps. That was all there was, for an eternity or a moment, that lazy lapis lazuli. It surrounded me, enveloped me, breathed in me and through me and was me. I was the blue, and the blue was me.

Then I floated. Like lying on my back in a pool, eyes closed, sun bright and warm on my eyelids, water lapping at my cheeks and lower lip, just breathing and floating. I sank into that blue, into the peaceful swirl of a gentle current.

Then, slowly, the floating drifting blue…shifted. It was a subtle transition, a gradual becoming. Motion, before random and idle, now breathing with purpose. The blue, before like water, now swallowed me. Slid along my flesh with purpose. Alive. Not a fearful or frightening or alien life, though; this was familiar, and lovely, and comforting. All I knew was that the touch of the blue was like curling up in my own bed after a month of hotel sheets. And this too was lovely and comforting; yet there was a new element, a new feeling, now. Softness and the slide against my skin was less the slick wet splash of water and more the deliberate tracery of palm on thigh, cheek on chest, breast on mouth, tongue on hip, breath on core.

This too pulsed with the soul-calm of home.

An eternity passed as I drowned in that touching kissing licking embracing breathing blue. I gave myself over to it, let it consume me. I became one with it.

Eternity after eternity, and still I convulsed and writhed and sighed in that roiling flesh-slick blue of touch.

Never end

Never end

Never end

Those two words were my only thought, my only awareness. I was home, and I wished never to leave. I needed it.

And then all morphed again, another slow imperceptible shift.

The blueness became a gaze. Awareness. Intelligence. Sentience.

Blue desire.

A vibrant blue, vulpine and ravenous.

And so, so familiar. Home. All that is me, all that is known, all that is comfort and solace.

The sense of touch became more. More everything—more real, firmer, needier, hungrier. Aching. Clawing.

All within that blue, such a sweetly familiar shade, a flavor of blue I knew with my mind and my heart and my soul and my body and into my pores and down through my cells. I knew that blue.

It touched. Demanded. Possessed. Became.

Again, I gave myself over to it. Abandoned myself to being possessed. The touch expanded, and I expanded with it. The touch slid along my neck, tracing the tendons. Carved a furrow down the center of my chest, like a teasing fingertip scraping from breastbone to navel. Another long slow touch, this one beginning at my toes and brushing up my calves, to my thighs, to my belly. Palms on flesh. Need. Ache. And that blue, blue gaze. It was a gaze, now, and I knew the eyes. Such vivid, vibrant, ensorcelling azure. Tracing my body with hungry needy fever, fervor, furor. A tempest of touch, a tangling, sighing dream-silk of whispers winnowing awareness from sleep.

The touch became…aggressive.

My balls ached, throbbed. I felt my manhood engorge. Felt it stiff and hard as nails and dripping with need. The blue, it saw my need. Felt my desire. Tasted my desperation.

I looked into that blue, into those eyes, and assented to anything, everything. Begged for touch. For the bliss of release. Pleaded for more.

And so the blue caressed me, intimately. A sweet slow affectionate brush of hands over my cock. Gentle and unhurried.

I breathed a whimper of pleasure, and the blue breathed back, lips whispering against mine, words I couldn’t make out, whispers like a breeze in the treetops, licking against my cheekbones, ruffling my hair.

And I recognized as well the texture of that whisper. It was as blue and familiar as the eyes that gazed at me, into me.

For time without end I lay in that drowning blue, basking in the touch, the breath, the presence. Letting the blue caress me, unhurriedly squeezing and sliding and stroking until I was unable to breathe properly, unable to be still, until I could only writhe and beg for the dulcet beautiful torture to end, to let me find release.

Whispers met my plea.

Words, this time.

Give it to me,

I heard.

Never end,

I heard.

Opposite, but complimentary. The blue and I both wished for this to never end, but we both knew it must, and so we both wished for the ending to be…a song so glorious even the most distant stars would hear and feel jealousy.

And so it was. The build-up was slow and my arousal was painful. The touch and the blue gaze grew hungrier and needier and I could not resist the need to release any longer. I became aware of the touch as a real physical thing, a hand wrapped around me and sliding slowly and grinding at my base and twisting around the top and sliding and caressing unceasingly until the moment of release was upon me, undeniable, heat and pressure boiling through me fiercely enough to melt me from the inside out, and I stared into those blue eyes and whispered back—

To you.

As I came, it was you touching me, Ava.

Only at the end as I exploded with a wrenching groan did I know you as the owner of those blue eyes and the perfect touch. But it was always you. Always the shade of your eyes, the texture of your voice, the sweetness of your touch. You, Ava.

You.

When I awoke, my come was a sticky hot pool on my stomach.

If you had been there…oh, love. You would have gloried in the mess. Teased me, tasted it, perhaps. Cleaned me with a loving touch.

I woke, messy, and you weren’t there.

It had all been a dream.

But I choose to believe it was you, still, somehow.

Perhaps our dreams are tangled.

I wonder if you dreamed of me, that night. Was I there, in your mind, in your sleep? Touching you? Licking your core, tasting your essence, gathering the sweet slick dew from deep within you on my fingers and licking it away like the nectar from a flower, like honey dripping from a golden comb? Pleasuring you as slowly as you did me? Teasing you to the edge and denying you the release—just as you love so much in reality.

Pluck that dream from my mind, Ava. Take it, make it real. I push it out into the æther, waft it toward you with all the impetus I can impart it. Take it, drown in it. Drown in my touch. Relish my whisper as you sleep. Glide languorously in my presence, imagined though it may be, and drown in my touch, in the sweep of my tongue against your seam, swirling against the hard bud of your clit, my fingers squelching inside you, finding that secret place that drives you to helpless screams and writhing whimpers.

God, I could come again thinking of it. Writing this, I am aroused.

I torture myself with this, Ava.

Pray, love. Pray that I am strong enough. That I can withstand what I fear comes my way.