I’m eating bananas Foster French toast with a friend,
and she just cannot grasp that my master (well, to her, he’s my “partner”) is with another woman… and I’m OKAY with it. I do not even bother explaining I’m actually turned on. She needs me to be gentle.
After all, it’s only breakfast.
I know much of common relationship wisdom tells me I ought to be terrified. What if he sleeps with her? What if he’s so entranced by the way she shifts her hips or clenches her tight pussy muscles that he forgets about me?
Ah, well, I can clench my muscles, too. But that isn’t the point.
I don’t know how to put it into words my friend understands.
She doesn’t doubt our love for each other. She’d never, ever come between us. She isn’t that kind of person in the least.
No, she isn’t being cruel to me. She’s sincerely puzzled, that’s all. She hasn’t seen this kind of thing before (please understand she is very vanilla, don’t judge or laugh).
It’s just not about how sexy the other woman is, or I am. I’m sure she’s very beautiful. I’ve met her, in fact.
But no lips or hips or those kinds of eyes you can lose yourself in, no, none of that can steal a heart. Nor would I want the kind of (wo)man that might be so easily swayed.
Pussies are magical creatures, yes, but love is still so much… more.
Love is, oh what’s the line? Love is a many splendored thing. Indeed, the deepest love is that and more.
I shall be forever grateful to the women who have shared their bodies with me. I am quite fond of each and every experience. The female body is, indeed, alluring.
But I am exponentially more grateful to those who shared their minds with me.
And that is how it will always be with me and mine.