I adored being with Jones.
I adore being in touch with him.
I adore the fact we may meet again...some time in the future....yet a long time into the future.
Never, ever could I lodge him in the same compartment as other lovers, trifles, playthings.I respect him far too much. I desire him far too much, yet I am not too naive...he is but a man, as I am just a woman. Need and desire consume all too well.

My thighs ache from self induced lust and play...earlier this evening, alone in the attic bedroom, silently as I felt the wetness seep through my underwear as I shuddered and closed my eyes on the light white clouds against the blue...the summer sky through the Velux window...

This morning, in the marital bed...alone and claiming the passion of the invisible; last night, the dark front room on the dark sofa, I came so hard I seeped all over the cushion and my pyjamas!

I need some delving and delicate dexterity between the aforementioned thighs...

What I need is that from a man...who cannot give...as he is not superman.

I must settle for the dirty imposter...

The Director sent me mail...I ponder...and muse...and may sigh...reluctantly...
To feel the skin of a man who makes me cry out...is to feel.
A slight second; a second rate; whilst my mind still holds the door open for the fabulous fine figure of a man who made me do just more than that: go figure.