I miss your touch the most. The way you gently snuggle up against me. Soft compliant flesh moulding against mine, breath gentle and warm on my skin. Feeling your fingers brushing my arms and torso, knowing it will not be long until they’re searching out other pleasures.

A study in self awareness.

Alone is not the same as lonely.

Alone can be a voluntary state. I choose to be alone often. I am an introvert in the main. My OCD and Depression lead me to that state. This in itself does not make me lonely. Often when I am alone is when I am at my happiest. When I’m engrossed in my gardening, creating things or enjoying my hobby I am mainly content, enthused and often manic in behaviour.

When I am with her and she is not there in mind I feel most alone. This is loneliness at its worst. She is there right in front of me but not there. My mind rolls through all of the things we did together. The love I feel for her does not reduce, but all the while my loneliness increases every day.

I miss arms that held me through the want to do so. A mouth that kissed me from lust and desire. But most of all I miss her smile and laughter.

I dreamt of my lover.

I felt her softness against my skin, her fingertips caressing me & her lips on mine.

I could taste her body, smell her musk & hear the catch in her breath as I enter her.

I awake and she is gone wraith like.

I am alone with my desires.

Distance is a bitch.

Of course time is infinite but life is not.

That I would travel to the end of time for her is truth but her time is limited that is certain.

Her suffering leads her to desire her time to pass. I wish this not to be but equally I wish an end to her pain.

Is there an answer to suit us both?

No. For one to happen I must be alone.

Such is my lot.

I am a complex soul, that I know well. My lifes’ experiences have led me to this point. A life time of pain and perceived failure caused by a succession of failed relationships and an ability to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time have left me anxious and often depressed.

Then she came, she brought me joy and happiness, laughter and desire. But life as usual always is cruel and I cannot be with her.

Back to the pain then I suppose.

She was wearing a little summer dress. I always enjoy her in these, the way the fabric clings to her curves, the way the breeze tantalises with brief glimpses of her thighs as it ruffles the hem.

She leant against the railings of the viewing point on the hiking trail deep in the forest. Her arse wiggling at me, of course no knickers, Sir’s prerogative. I smile at the sight as the brat in her so often just below the surface gently bubbles up to tease me.

Quietly I unsheathed my knife, 6” of black anodised steel and deftly sliced the dress from top to bottom in one swift stroke. I made sure the bra strap was severed in the same movement. I wanted her naked but for her boots.

A shriek of surprise was silenced as my hands grasped her body to mine. Fingers, mouth & teeth on her skin as quickly as possible to avert her reaction. A tap of my boot against hers triggered her change in stance as she leant even farther over the railing planting her booted feet further apart.

My cock freed from my clothing tapped against her buttocks. She reached back and spread them wide for me. Some natural lubricant was all that was required to allow my erection to force its way inside her. I took her against the railing hard and relentless filling the mountains with the noise of our coupling. We came together in a cacophony of sweat, exertion and noise, my orgasm leaving her arse full of my cum.

Apparently she didn’t appreciate the mile and a half through the woods back to the truck just in her hiking boots. I enjoyed every jiggle, bounce and wiggle, mainly from behind watching my cum running down the inside of her thighs.

The rest of that journey was a great deal of fun, 6 hours on the road, lots of happy truckers and many places to stop in for me to top her up.

I woke from my slumbers with the memories of a dream and the certain knowledge that I had enjoyed you throughout it. The one enduring image was of you stood, hands above your head feet apart dripping as I played with you.

Distance and circumstance are a bastard aren’t they.

I’m feeling creative with my words today. My mind is drifting through my memories of you. The times I held your hand, when we made love, when I took you as my whore. Introspection encompasses me, I am but a record of my life’s experiences. A library of moments of joy and pain, love and hate. The one shining light at the centre within is you, my lover, my future, my slut. Mine.

I lie here, phone in hand staring at the screen as she sleeps soundly by my side. However it may seem she is never far from my thoughts. My desire is to take her in my arms, smother her in my kisses and to make love to her. To roll into her arms, sliding between her legs in the way we have so many times before.

The damage caused by the disease however is too great. Even if she wished to join with me she remains physically incapable, the brain and emotion of the woman I loved, lusted for and possessed trapped within a body no longer capable of sustaining such desires.

The pain is great and seems never to be without end. I am but a hollow shell of the man I once was, my interior eroded by the suffering the disease brought upon us both. The moments tick by as I lay here, emotionally devastated by circumstances over which I had no control.

A husk, passing the hours, afraid to sleep but for the terrors dreams will bring.