So often I’m tired, worn out, world weary and numb. Too many times, from too many things. Yet still she comes back to me. The smallest effort on her part, making my jaded eyes all starry.
A little tenderness from her with a touch of sauciness stirred in, turning my exhaustion and fatigue into giddy joy. The simple silly things we share throwing sunlight on many an overcast day.
Then there’s passion. The both of us taking our turn to present ourselves to the other. Desperate, dirty and delicious slices, of the creamiest cake for the other to consume. Each wicked bite full of yes yes yes’s and so many forever’s.
Both of us long knowing, those buttons to press to make the other crazy. Be it as my lover, my slave or my dear dear friend, she knows how to get round me now. And I am well glad of it.
However misanthropic I may be with all my ills, I am happiest when she has slipped under my defences and returned to my arms. Silencing whatever troubled claxons that may be sounding, with a simple word or earnest kiss.
We are two trans girls who have built a shelter together, knowing elsewhere there are those that truly hate us both for simply being. Or those judge us as not being good enough or pure enough or right enough for their time or their affection.
These concerns we swept away with kisses and fresh cuddles too. For there is great freedom and solace, in not needing to apologise or explain, for who or what you are.
So when it is my turn as her lover, to lay down and for her to be on top of me, my heart is wide open for her. I gladly return all the yes’s she has ever said. A mutual total, that showers us in great abundance.
Somewhere in it all as the last wall of passion is scaled and the last secret comes a tumbling, my heart is booming for her and I cannot hide it anymore. For this is the life and love I’ve always dreamed of and I do not want it to stop.