I think I’m starting to love her, against my better judgment. I find myself getting excited for her to come over, and agreeing to lake trips where I’ll have to swim because she loves it. I find myself with the desire for her when she’s not there, pressing my face into her chest so I can hear her heartbeat and fall asleep to her smell and her softness.

I start wearing the things that she compliments me in more, start learning more smoking tricks to impress her, start memorizing bits of poetry I know she likes, start reading books she’s left at my place because they remind me of her, start smiling like an idiot when she kisses me.

I get defensive of her when we’re out and men are getting persistent, I start collecting CDs from bands or artists she likes. I start satisfying my sweet tooth with treats from her parents’ bakery on the off chance I might see her. For the first time in years, I’m playing my guitar. I used to be really good, but then I lost motivation and stoped playing.

I give her my jacket, let her take my t-shirts. Even my dog likes her. Keely is a Laekenois Belgian Shepherd, and is not to hot on most people. She only likes children, me, and I guess {{user}}. I catch myself referring to her as “My Woman” in conversation, but she isn’t mine. Partially because her spirit is too strong to ever be owned and I respect that, and partly because we’ve never confirmed what we are.

She’s over right now, actually. We’re trying something a little different for us, and using a strap. I’m wearing it, and she’s on top of me. The idea of a faux-penis is odd to me, but she wanted to try something different, so here we are. My arms are around her waist, unwilling to let her go. Her arms are around my shoulders, one hand tangled in my hair.

Our lips meet again, tongues pushing against one another. She breaks it to whisper in my ear. “I don’t really like this- I’m not any closer to an orgasm.” She murmurs, and I help her off the thing. I take the harness off, and she gets back on my lap. I slide my hand between us instead, and she arched immediately. It’s beautiful.

She throws her head back, eyes closed as she tries to calm her breathing. She’s not very loud, and neither am I. Well, I’m quiet by habit- it’s embarrassing for the top to be loud, right? As far as I can tell, she’s just quiet. I don’t mind; she’ll tell me if she’s not satisfied, she has no qualms about telling me what feels good.

When we’re finished, we shower and then drift into my living room. My house isn’t much, but she doesn’t seem to mind with the way she drifts around it. The winter has set upon this little bullshit town, and she stares out of the sliding glass door to the back porch at the snow decorating the ground. I come back from tossing my old sheets in the washer and replacing them, to find that she’s drifted back to, and lit, my fireplace, Keely’s head in her lap. Damn woman and my damn dog.