Title: Dreamsongs
Chapter: But She is Not Me
Warning: these poetic experiments discuss sexually explicit situations involving hypnotism and mind control. If this is not to your taste, or not legal for you to consume, please turn elsewhere.
But She is not Me,
who stands in my feet,
who feels with my hands,
She is not Me,
who opens my eyes,
who hears with my ears,
She is not Me,
who takes my shirt in my hands,
who pulls it over my head.
But Him, I know,
whose words are soft and sweet,
whose gestures are languid and gentle,
Him, I know,
whose hands are tender on my sides,
whose kisses are sweet on my forehead,
Him, I know,
whose voice keeps me safe and warm,
whose touch brings me joy because it does,
because it should.
But She is not Me,
who traces the backs of his hands with my fingers,
who tells him how horny I am,
She is not Me,
who guides his hand beneath my waistband,
who moves my underwear-clad body in seductive ways,
She is not Me,
who runs my hand through his hair,
who kisses him long and slow and deep...
And I am glad.
I am glad that I am Me
and for those times when my body is mine,
but I am glad,
I am glad that I can rest,
that I can watch, and feel, and observe,
as my body is not Mine,
as my body is Hers,
as She does wonderful things using My body
wonderful things to Me,
wonderful things to Him.
And as I watch,
My own hands reach behind me,
My own hands unhook my bra,
And as I watch,
My own hands let the lacy garment fall,
My own hands massage my sensitive chest,
And as I watch,
My own hands undo His belt,
My own hands slide His pants to the floor.
And it makes me,
makes me,
makes me shiver,
makes me tingle,
makes me warm,
makes me wet,
when He makes me,
makes me,
makes me moan,
makes me move,
makes me freeze,
makes me sleep,
makes me Her.
She is not Me,
who sits on the bed,
who slips my panties from my hips
She is not Me,
who spreads my legs,
who invites His fingers to touch,
She is not Me,
who falls back helplessly,
who melts under His words.
But still I feel,
I feel
hands on my feet circles on my heels touches on my ankles fingers on my calves lips on my knees kisses on my thighs tongue on my on my onmy
She is not Me who moans and pants and giggles and laughs and wants and needs and begs and gasps and shouts
But still I feel
I feel
everything.
But She is not Me,
who lies in my bed,
who touches my husband,
She is not Me,
who draws him into a kiss,
who pulls his hips down towards mine,
She is not Me,
who pressed my breast into his hand,
who invites him inside.
But Him, I know,
whose hardness fills me,
whose movements excite me,
Him, I know,
whose mouth is rough on mine,
whose kisses are insistent and demanding,
Him, I know,
whose need and desperation make him grip tight,
whose joy brings me to orgasm because it should,
And I climax as he does, because I should.
And in that moment,
she is waking,
and I am waking,
in that moment,
she is joyful,
and I am warming,
in that moment,
she is in my self,
and I am her.
And together
together we lie in the bed
two bodies in the bed
two minds in my body
three joys in synchronization
and together we are
we are together,
we are as one,
and simply,
we are.