The incurable romantic in me believes there is one true love for each of us – that one person who is so exactly perfect for you and fully completes you. Harley was mine. It hurts more than I can describe that his one true love was someone else entirely.
I was thinking about him again today. I can not say why or what started it. I can just say that I was. I used to have a hard time getting out of bed in the mornings. I kept rolling over and over, putting off getting up until the very last moment, then rushing to get out of the door. I fell into the habit of thinking about Harley on those mornings. Not for the joy it brought, but because I began to hurt so bad that the last thing I wanted to do was lay in bed and think more about him. Yes, I know, do not even bother to tell me – that is pretty whacked. I would like to say that I got myself away from the bad habit, but truth is that I was still doing it until fairly recently. I just kind of stopped and was not all that aware I had. I think credit goes to a variety of sources. Partial credit occasionally goes to the Boyfriend. The dear boy can only get partial credit because I have been with him and while and I have been doing this a long time still. Wide Load gets some credit because, well, because he is Wide Load. :) He makes me smile. I find that I think about Harley less and less these days. Credit goes to blogging too, I think, because this is where I try – not always successfully – to say things that I do not say anywhere else. I do not know that I will ever be able to write about Harley from start to finish (it even hurts to use the word "finish" when talking about him), but I have been able to mention him from time to time here and it is not like I have anywhere else I get to talk about him.
What was it about Harley? I could say it was because he was the most incredible man I have ever met. But truth is, it was how he made me feel. He was my personal pep rally. He pumped me up and made me believe things about myself that I never thought before him. He was pain killers, anti-depressants, mood elevators, and tequila all in one shot. 24/7. And yes, he was viagra too.
I know this is a sex blog, so you guys do not really want to hear me go on and on about Harley – you want to hear the good stuff.
Harley was into 'ambush sex'. He would probably take offense at that, saying that he was being spontaneous. I call it – smiling – 'ambush sex'. He might be walking through the a room that I was standing in, he would give me a kiss, and he might just pick me up to carry me into the bedroom. Before anyone calls this controlling and abusive, let me stop you there. It was not. It was Harley and it was fun. If Harley had a flaw, it was his incredible sense of responsibility and always being productive. I think he approached fun (not just sex), the way he approached everything – fast and hard. When he relaxed enough to think about having fun, he wanted – he needed – it then. It never felt controlling or abusive with Harley. He made me feel needed and desired.
I think one of my favorites was when he was mowing the back yard. I brought him out a glass of cold water. I take responsibility for what happened because I kind of knew what to expect. I went out barefoot wearing just a pair of tight jean shorts and a bikini top. I expected him to drag me back to the bedroom . . . or at least the garage. Instead, he thanked me. He seemed really surprised that I had done that for him and was extremely appreciative. We stood there and just talked about nothing for a bit. He pulled me close for a kiss apologizing for his being sweaty. I said that I didn't mind and that was apparently all the permission he needed. I thought I was just talking about sweat! He began kissing me. I asked what he was up too, laughing, as he spun me around right there in the back yard!!!! Thank God he had a privacy fence. I tried to protest, but I guess my laughter took much of the heat out if it. He had my pants off and me bent over in no time. It is kind of hard to look graceful when you are bent over, half naked, hands on the ground for balance. Thinking about it, Harley made being submissive for him fun. He made me feel more like a woman than I can describe. I remember the look of his legs standing behind me – I could clearly see them the way I was bent over – and how they flexed each time he thrust into me. I loved it. I loved making him need me that way. I loved giving myself to him there. I pretended to protest the entire time that he fucked me in the back yard; all the time loving every thrust. When he finally came and released me, he did not give me back my jeans shorts. He kept them saying he would come look me up after he was done mowing the yard. I walked back to the house, swinging my hips, naked from my bikini top down . . . and I stayed that way until he came inside to finish what he started.
I was thinking about him again today. I can not say why or what started it. I can just say that I was. I used to have a hard time getting out of bed in the mornings. I kept rolling over and over, putting off getting up until the very last moment, then rushing to get out of the door. I fell into the habit of thinking about Harley on those mornings. Not for the joy it brought, but because I began to hurt so bad that the last thing I wanted to do was lay in bed and think more about him. Yes, I know, do not even bother to tell me – that is pretty whacked. I would like to say that I got myself away from the bad habit, but truth is that I was still doing it until fairly recently. I just kind of stopped and was not all that aware I had. I think credit goes to a variety of sources. Partial credit occasionally goes to the Boyfriend. The dear boy can only get partial credit because I have been with him and while and I have been doing this a long time still. Wide Load gets some credit because, well, because he is Wide Load. :) He makes me smile. I find that I think about Harley less and less these days. Credit goes to blogging too, I think, because this is where I try – not always successfully – to say things that I do not say anywhere else. I do not know that I will ever be able to write about Harley from start to finish (it even hurts to use the word "finish" when talking about him), but I have been able to mention him from time to time here and it is not like I have anywhere else I get to talk about him.
What was it about Harley? I could say it was because he was the most incredible man I have ever met. But truth is, it was how he made me feel. He was my personal pep rally. He pumped me up and made me believe things about myself that I never thought before him. He was pain killers, anti-depressants, mood elevators, and tequila all in one shot. 24/7. And yes, he was viagra too.
I know this is a sex blog, so you guys do not really want to hear me go on and on about Harley – you want to hear the good stuff.
Harley was into 'ambush sex'. He would probably take offense at that, saying that he was being spontaneous. I call it – smiling – 'ambush sex'. He might be walking through the a room that I was standing in, he would give me a kiss, and he might just pick me up to carry me into the bedroom. Before anyone calls this controlling and abusive, let me stop you there. It was not. It was Harley and it was fun. If Harley had a flaw, it was his incredible sense of responsibility and always being productive. I think he approached fun (not just sex), the way he approached everything – fast and hard. When he relaxed enough to think about having fun, he wanted – he needed – it then. It never felt controlling or abusive with Harley. He made me feel needed and desired.
I think one of my favorites was when he was mowing the back yard. I brought him out a glass of cold water. I take responsibility for what happened because I kind of knew what to expect. I went out barefoot wearing just a pair of tight jean shorts and a bikini top. I expected him to drag me back to the bedroom . . . or at least the garage. Instead, he thanked me. He seemed really surprised that I had done that for him and was extremely appreciative. We stood there and just talked about nothing for a bit. He pulled me close for a kiss apologizing for his being sweaty. I said that I didn't mind and that was apparently all the permission he needed. I thought I was just talking about sweat! He began kissing me. I asked what he was up too, laughing, as he spun me around right there in the back yard!!!! Thank God he had a privacy fence. I tried to protest, but I guess my laughter took much of the heat out if it. He had my pants off and me bent over in no time. It is kind of hard to look graceful when you are bent over, half naked, hands on the ground for balance. Thinking about it, Harley made being submissive for him fun. He made me feel more like a woman than I can describe. I remember the look of his legs standing behind me – I could clearly see them the way I was bent over – and how they flexed each time he thrust into me. I loved it. I loved making him need me that way. I loved giving myself to him there. I pretended to protest the entire time that he fucked me in the back yard; all the time loving every thrust. When he finally came and released me, he did not give me back my jeans shorts. He kept them saying he would come look me up after he was done mowing the yard. I walked back to the house, swinging my hips, naked from my bikini top down . . . and I stayed that way until he came inside to finish what he started.
It's called being in love babe...
ReplyDeleteAt some point, when you are ready, when you have the energy, when the time is right and the planets align, you will write the Harley story. Not for us, but for yourself. You'll see the reasons you loved him, the reasons you left him, the joy, the pain, the good the bad, the true nature of what you had together.
ReplyDeleteSome of these things will seem obvious and you will write them quickly, save the file, and close your laptop. But then, a week, month, 6-months later, you will go back and add the truth, and then peace will come.