We Are Not Real

We are not real.

My husband, my children, school runs, making dinner, laughing with friends, holidays, paying bills, running late, rainy-PJ-days, swimming-at-the-beach-weekends, grocery shopping, bathing the dog - that is real.

We are not real.

When my nails rake down your back, you borrow the lines for a time and then they are gone. When I speak with you on the phone - moments of time snatched away from my life, my real life. When you respond "Yes, Mistress" in desperate, strangled whispers. When you beg for more, for less, for something, for everything. I know your wife is in the other room - your wife is real.

We are not real.

When you pull me to you and I am on my knees, your hand wound in my hair, sweat and cum dripping. When I lay splayed across the floor, my back burning feeling the whip bite into my skin. When you are there with your cock inside me, driving me home, pulsing in my mouth. When my eyes roll and I shudder and grab at you with my cunt and we are lost, I am lost, that is a fantasy - a longing. When your eyes lock with mine and we move in sync, we touch the core of each other and do not have to look away because we are there only for that moment. It does not exist before or after, only then and once you have touched it, it is gone

We are not real.

When you are with her and you think of me, tracing the lines of her face remembering mine. When you feel yourself slide into her and you can almost taste my scent. When I am with someone else I close my eyes and see you staring into me. When I feel that I am with you with them in that moment and that moment is gone - they are just imaginings.

We are not real.

When I see you stretched out above me, the curve of your breasts, your hair falling softly over your shoulders, my mouth over yours. When I watch you sleep and kiss your belly. When I wake I see your shadow has not etched into my wall by candle light, your arching back, your gorgeous thrusting hips, your lips calling my name. When I smell you on my sheets but you are gone I smile softly - a midnight apparition.

We are not real.

I will carve myself into your soul, burn my touch onto your skin, leave my taste on your tongue and you will cherish it, wrap it inside your mind and keep it safe. We hold our imagined-together-dreams and they sustain us. While you touch yourself you are there in those moments.

Then they are gone because we are not real.