Or Is It Lust?

i came almost instantly this morning after my waking dream

My heart skipped a beat when he wrote that.  The notion that thoughts of me triggered an ****** endears him to me tremendously.  But I wonder if I'm confusing love with lust.  It's just that to me, it's really hard not to equate the two.  For so many years, the only one with whom I was intimate was my husband.  I sort of wore blinders when it came to other men.  I'd made a promise, you see.  Fidelity was part of that.  Forsaking all others. 

We'd used the Declaration of Consent from the Book of Common Prayer of the Anglican Church published in 1549. You know how I love archaic language.  The Declaration of Consent occurs prior to the actual vows. The officiant asks: “Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together according to God’s law in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health? and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"    And then he asks the same of the bride.  We'd both said yes.  So I'd figured that was that and I need to keep my hungry ***** away from anyone else, no matter how cute he might be.  But as time's gone on, and the honouring has fallen by the wayside at times, I've begun to wonder about whether it's okay for me to eschew some of the other parts.  Not openly, mind you.  But quietly, to give that hungry ***** a taste of something scrumptious.


That sounds so slutty.  So maybe I'm trying to overlay everything with true love in order to avoid the label of *****.  I hope not.  Because that would be lying to myself about my feelings.  I think the truth is that I engage in wishful thinking.  That when a man says something sweet, I like to pretend that he means it in a much bigger way than he intends.  Because it feeds my hungry heart.  I want to be loved.  I want to be needed.  I want to be desired.  I am just one big bundle of neediness.   And the funny thing is that I am loved, needed and desired by my husband.  Now, anyway.  Loved to a greater degree in some ways now than when we first married, because we've been through so much and I have stuck by him.  But desired less, because his body is older and his libido is diminished.  Love and lust are both necessary for a good marriage, I think.  Or at least, one needs to have similar levels.  Some of my gentlemen friends have commented that a discrepancy in levels seems to be inevitable betwixt married couples.  But I reject that.  I don't want to believe it, because it's too ******* depressing to think about.

My Favourite **** Star, the man whom I've watched *** on cam twice as of this afternoon, informed me that he'd awoken this morning thinking of me.  And that it had led to a very nice ****** whilst in bed.  He'd written i came almost instantly this morning after my waking dream.  Jesus, it's enough to turn a girl's head.  I've certainly had my fair share of Os thinking about him, looking at the video clip he provided, gazing at his lovely body in the still photos he's sent, and smiling back at the head shots he sent me.  The latter are perhaps the most precious gift of all.  Having access to his warm brown eyes whenever I wish to look at them signifies a level of trust that means so much to me.  Anyone can send off a **** shot; sharing your face makes you vulnerable.

I fancy myself in love with him based on the warmth I feel when I think of him, the happiness I feel when we chat, the excitement I know when I see him snaking his hands into his jeans as he cams.   But I'm old enough to know that is lust.  It's just that love seems to be mixed in there too.  Genuine affection, certainly.  And I think he has that sentiment for me.  He says very sweet things.  We'd spoken this morning, before I left to teach.  And he promised me he would see me later in the day and *** for me via webcam.  When we rendezvoused six hours later, he said he thought of me all day and it was hard not to ***.  I giggled a bit at the "hard," making some lame quip.  He grinned.  I loved seeing him grin.  He has a really nice grin.  It's different than when he types * smiles * in chat.  But it's still fun to see that in chat.  That's the thing.  I love him any way I can get him.  Each method is a slightly different one.  But all are lovely.

The thing is, though, I wonder if I'm giving too much weight to the things he says like him thinking of me all day.  It may well be true, but he also watched some hot **** clips.  Those could just as easily have inspired his stroking and *******.  He makes me feel incredibly special when he gasps my name over and over as he fondles himself to ******, spurting forth a very impressive load of creamy ***.  Copious.  Delicious looking.  What woman wouldn't appreciate hearing her name as a man does that?  But I tell myself it's foolhardy to attach too much significance to that.  It is a kind thing for him to do.  But it does not mean he loves me, much as I wish it does. 

It is, I fear, one of those sweet nothings.  Honeyed words.  It can lead to a sticky situation when one believes they mean something greater than intended.  Yet I can't help replying to him about my own desires, hoping he realizes that I am in earnest.  When I say I want him, I'm not just giving him some sugar.

me: Good afternoon...
  or should I say good evening?
MFPS: hey there
me: Hullo!
MFPS: you at a cafe ?
me: At the local Hilton
  I'm in a little corner of the lounge
MFPS: niiice
me: entertain me, please
MFPS: i'm watching young man get pegged with a large *****
  and she's using crisco for lube
me: good lord
me: it's like Last Tango In Paris
MFPS: he's clearly been done before
me: where Marlon Brando takes the stick of butter
  to poor Maria what's her name's hiney
MFPS: mmmmmmm
poor Maria
me: she was not real happy with him
  and look what happened to him in the end
  Promise me...
  that when I peg your ***...
me: you will not shoot me.
MFPS: you will be in charge of aim
me: I promise to lube you well
  and often
  I will take my cues from you
  as to when you are ready to take it more vigorously
  and when you are...
  expect me to thrust pretty intensely
  because I want you that much.
milkynips milkynips
46-50, F
1 Response May 12, 2012

Can lust be joyful?

Heck, yes.

Your capacity for joy makes me smile.