Who Is She?

I am in love with her but who is she, or better yet, what is she? Why am I so taken by her? Why can't I see her, touch her, kiss her, make love to her? She has the identity of a wisp of fog or a chameleon, appearing, disappearing, ever changing, always evolving. I know everything about her and yet I know nothing. Does she really have soft brown hair? Dimples? Big, expressive eyes? I know that in my dreams she has the mind, body and beauty of a goddess. Does she really exist, or is she a figment of my imagination?

She comes for me when I am not there, leaving messages that make my blood boil and causes me to have wild, erotic, dreams. While working, I suddenly stop and think about her. A beautiful woman walks by and I wonder if it is her or just what I imagine that she must look like. I write stories using her as the heroine, the villain, the siren, the seductress, but she is always the shadowy image that I can't quite see. The things that she does to me are beyond description and are only limited by my imagination. Whether she treats me as her slave or master, the results are almost always the same. In every story I make love to her. My rickety old body becomes young and virile to match hers. I take on the persona of a handsome prince that befits the beautiful goddess or evil sorceress. Goddess or sorceress, it doesn't matter, I always fall under her spell.

I revel in the seduction, no matter which of us is the dominant spirit. I envision her young, lithe body reacting to my every desire, wish and command. I close my eyes and see what I am doing to her, or what she is doing to me. I see how she reacts with her animal needs, lusts and desires. How she can switch, in a second, from gentle, nubile, seductress to evil enchantress in the corners of my mind is not something that I can, or even try to understand. I just accept and enjoy it. I am taken from pinnacle to pinnacle of erotic ecstasy during the intimacy of our lovemaking. My hands, my lips, my body caresses and enjoy her most intimate parts. I cause goose flesh on her back, her breasts, her buttocks, as I fondle and caress them. From deep within her body she generates the unique feminine moisture that comes just before a sexual encounter. My lips kiss her ears, her eyes, her neck, her breasts and greedily savor the nectar that I have caused her to create. When my body joins hers, all reality is lost to the sensual pleasures of the flesh. My eyes no longer see, my ears no longer hear, and no other thoughts are possible as I approach the ultimate personal gratification that my climax will bring.

Sometimes, the tables are turned and I lie still while she bestows her sexual delights on me. Her sensual skills are such that I cannot bring myself to move or even open my eyes for fear that I will lose the moment that will bring me to the culmination of carnal rapture. The velvet sleeve of her body or her mouth presents the ultimate encasement for that sensitive part of my body that will cause the release of my sexual frustrations, tensions and desires.

Someday, I will, I must find her and satisfy myself that she is real. Perhaps I am better to continue to visualize a picture in my mind of an ideal lover than meeting one who cannot possibly be as perfect as the sensual being my heart and mind have created. Maybe I need this fantasy to keep my mind alert. If I do find her, will I use her and discard her like I have so many others, or will I love and cherish her, hold her close to my breast, my heart? She must keep me always reaching for that something that is just beyond my grasp. If not, I am afraid that I may give up searching for my ultimate fantasy and my mind would cease to imagine the things that could be, and my stories, like me, would wither and die.

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Written by E J Sheeran. Copyright (c) 06-23-1999 by E. J. Sheeran. All rights reserved. This work, in part, or whole, is not to be distributed, reproduced, transmitted or posted, in any manner, without the express written permission of the author.