Pooner Diaries: Myth

Birdboy · May 30, 2011

I dream today about mythology. Oh, I don't mean the dusty mythology of Greek gods, Norse heroes, and Egyptian kings. Today I dream of lesser known heroes, that mean much more to me than those far-away long-gone tales. A personal mythology, of ladies whom I've had the pleasure of their company. There is one lady in particular that I've been dreaming about this morning. She brings a smile to my lips, when I think about her.

Some things are so vast in scope that you only see them fully when you're some time and distance away, as a tall building is when you stand at its base. You only see little bits and pieces, depending on where you are standing. It is the same for her. I recall so many little snippets of her, so many small little vignettes, so many brief instants of sweet delight.

I recall that first kiss. We slipped into each other's arms without exchanging a single word, our tongues speaking our greetings to each other in a sinuously slow slippery slide. Our lips, brushing ever so delicately over each other's. The warmth of her body against mine, her hands on my back, the smell of her perfume. The silent sound and wild confusion of my mind being blown.

And not long afterwards, I remember the gleam in her eyes, the wide anticipatory grin as she led me to my own bedroom. I remember the soft skin, delicately scented, as I brushed my lips against her neck. The warmth of her skin, the cold metal of her dangly earring against my lips. I remember her smiley shiver as I gently breathed in her ear. As I nipped her earlobe with first my lips, then gently with my teeth.

I remember the lust in those beautiful eyes, inches away, as she pulled me near. Maximum skin to skin at first, face to face, chest to chest, then into her without a moment's hesitation. I remember the first instant I was inside her, the excitement and wild pleasure. Then we were off at a gallop. Well along the little journey we took along the path to our pleasure, both alone and with each other.

But most of all, I remember the sense of finally being at home when I was in her. Where I wanted to be, here, now, and forever.

I never spoke of my feelings to her. It's just not done, and besides, there was no point. We would have both laughed off such foolishness, at least in any conversation outside of our own heads. We had only just met,we hardly knew each other. But I knew, deep inside, in my heart of hearts, that she felt the same way.

This hobby is filled with moments such as these. Little moments of magic, little miracles that I try hard not to take for granted. Becoming jaded is a real danger, but I want to hold on and appreciate these moments whenever they come by. Enjoy them, marvel over them, then let go of them. Recall them on cold dark early mornings such as these.

So I sit, with my morning coffee, and dream of her. She's already passed into mythology for me, and will live forever in my memories. I know my memories of her will become brighter everytime I think of her, she will become bigger, bolder, even more grand in her absence.

Later today, I'll be with a wonderful lady. Beautiful, sweet, talented. I'll revel in the bliss that is her company, and I know I'll have a lovely time. I know I'll make new legends. But I still think of my mythical muse this morning, as I toast her with my coffee mug, where ever she is.