Five Months

It’s been five months since I first met Mr. J2.

Even though we technically didn’t meet until November 19th, we’re using Halloween, October 31 as our ‘first meet’.

I can’t believe that it’s been five months already. It seems both shorter and longer than it should be. I feel as if I’ve known him for such a long time – and at the same time, I can’t believe that already a quarter of the year has gone by.

Seriously. New Year’s was three months ago. What the fuck?

And after five months, this man still amazes me.

Every. Day.

He’s the most kind and caring man I’ve ever met.

He melts me with his words. He tells me all the time how amazing I am. Out of the blue, too – not just in response to something I’ve said to him.

He constantly tells me I am beautiful. And sexy. I said to him last night – and it’s true every day – that he actually ‘reveres’ me. He looks at my body as if it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Seriously.

He is so incredibly sexy. I’m still kicking myself because last week I missed an opportunity to photograph him in the buff – he was in the bathroom doorway, naked, looking at a book. I told him to just shift his leg to hide his junk and he was truly amazing to behold. I grabbed my phone but missed the shot – and even if I ask him to pose for me it would not be the same.

The sex is still amazing. Last night was Wine Sunday – and I honestly lost track of how many orgasms I had.

Seriously.

The sex has never been as good with anyone else in my entire life.

Anyone.

We just… fit.

When we are together physically we are on fire. His kisses excite me like no one ever has – one touch and I am immediately ready.

And the funny thing is… it’s the same for him. Last week I put porn on the TV and we watched about ten minutes of this very sexy, very tiny girl – she had on all of J2’s favorite items – skimpy bra, g-string, garters, stockings and even a trench coat (I dressed up for him that way once and can vouch for his enthusiasm). We watched for a bit and then I reached for him and to my surprise, he was not ready. He was not excited in the least. He told me that it did nothing for him, that I was what excited him. And after two minutes of kissing and touching me, he was fully ready to go.

Imagine. A man who is not excited by porn.

Seriously.

Even when we do the simple things like cook dinner together- I can’t keep my hands off of him. Touching his arms, giving him a quick neck rub, a hug, a kiss. I can’t walk by him in the kitchen without a touch. I have to touch him when we sit together on the couch. Or in a restaurant. Or in the car.

I’ve been longing for this my entire adult life  – and here, at 45, I finally have it.

For the first time in so very, very long, I am well and truly happy.

I don’t think he will ever know just how happy me makes me. Words really can’t express it. I tell him that I love him all the time – but I don’t really know if he will ever know just how wonderful he makes me feel.

I feel happy and beautiful and healthy and smart and funny and coy and shy and sexy and comfortable when I’m with him.

Most importantly, for the first time in so very long, I trust again. After so much pain and hurt, he has allowed me to open up again fully to someone. To be myself again.

To truly love someone again with all my heart.

And by opening up again, I might have found my soul mate. I hate to say it but there it is. I believe that this is the man I was born to love. To laugh with.

To grow old with, til death do us part.

Being loved by him is the best feeling in the world.

I just hope that he feels the same way about me.

Advertisements

One thought on “Five Months

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s