She blew into my life unexpectedly, quietly, just a few months ago. It all started innocently enough, a compliment paid, admiration expressed for beautiful photographs. Brief notes exchanged. Her comments on other blogs noted, comments on her blog piquing interest. This is a woman of intellect, of substance, of wit, of passion, at least her writing tells me so. I am captivated by her mind, the way she thinks, her openness, frankness. I am intrigued.
Our occasional exchanges grow more frequent, more lengthy. Information is shared. I learn she is Canadian, and I now know how to handle my stick and what to do with a puck! I enjoy listening to her speak, the “oot and aboot” makes me smile. I learn she likes to cook and she handles cutlery, and I make a note to self – do not surprise her in the kitchen when she is wielding a knife.
Our contacts grow rapidly as we are drawn to each other. She tantalizes me with pictures intended only for my eyes, our notes become increasingly explicit, passionate, lusty. At first it seems just like so much cyber, reasonably anonymous and harmless, but as we communicate matters change. I have learned that she is an erotic, sensual woman, a passionate and generous lover, a tigress, a goddess. She has me firmly in her thrall.
In the weeks since, we have moved from writing to talking, from talking to meeting, and my mileage account with Air Canada is burgeoning. I have moved from emotional obscurity to feel, for the first time in my life, like a fully-formed man, in every sense of the word. I am hers. She is mine. I barely need the services of Air Canada as I can almost fly when I think of her, hear her sultry voice, see her name. My body, my heart, my soul fairly bursts with pride when she is on my arm, whether in a restaurant or a supermarket, and I know that every eye in the house is focused only on her, my voluptuous beauty.
It was a surge of fresh air that brushed across me all those weeks ago, a fair wind indeed, and I call that wind Mariah -- M for short.
Our occasional exchanges grow more frequent, more lengthy. Information is shared. I learn she is Canadian, and I now know how to handle my stick and what to do with a puck! I enjoy listening to her speak, the “oot and aboot” makes me smile. I learn she likes to cook and she handles cutlery, and I make a note to self – do not surprise her in the kitchen when she is wielding a knife.
Our contacts grow rapidly as we are drawn to each other. She tantalizes me with pictures intended only for my eyes, our notes become increasingly explicit, passionate, lusty. At first it seems just like so much cyber, reasonably anonymous and harmless, but as we communicate matters change. I have learned that she is an erotic, sensual woman, a passionate and generous lover, a tigress, a goddess. She has me firmly in her thrall.
In the weeks since, we have moved from writing to talking, from talking to meeting, and my mileage account with Air Canada is burgeoning. I have moved from emotional obscurity to feel, for the first time in my life, like a fully-formed man, in every sense of the word. I am hers. She is mine. I barely need the services of Air Canada as I can almost fly when I think of her, hear her sultry voice, see her name. My body, my heart, my soul fairly bursts with pride when she is on my arm, whether in a restaurant or a supermarket, and I know that every eye in the house is focused only on her, my voluptuous beauty.
It was a surge of fresh air that brushed across me all those weeks ago, a fair wind indeed, and I call that wind Mariah -- M for short.
