if I should stumble...

Her breathing deepens as she slips into sleep. It doesn't take long these days. The soft nub of her nipple nudges gently into my palm. The rise and fall of her bare breast, like an undulating sea, lulls me and along the waves of my thoughts I drift away.

There is a price for everything. We pay a price for freedom, a toll for solitude, a there is always a price for happiness and companionship. I have paid for freedom, and I have paid for solitude with loneliness. And now it seems the price for my happiness can sometimes come at the cost of hers. She shifts beneath me with a whispered whimper in the dark and my cock snuggled between us like a rabbit in a burrow twitches.

Sometimes words just come out wrong. They tumble forth without direction or pattern. It is not intentional and it is never meant to hurt or wound. If only I could pause long enough to re-arrange the words along the length of my tongue before they are uttered. "Think before you speak" I hear my mother voice inside my head, along with my own voice in harmony, as I repeated them to my kids 30 years later. I should listen to myself more often. Words said in drink or anger are seldom untrue. But I was not drunk, neither was I angry. Perhaps the fragments of work related stress lingered on me while I drove home, but it was no excuse really for the poor choice of words that spewed forth, unchecked.

"Love means never having to say your sorry". She repeats this line over and over again. Maybe one day I will believe it. Right now sorry is the only word that I can repeat over and over again. I layer it like putty over a gaping hole, a hole which I created by my own thoughtlessness and heedless disregard. And with every stroke of my contrition I can only hope that I can fix it. Fix the gaping hole in her heart, fix her beautiful face bereft of a smile, fix the deep sadness that has dulled her bright green eyes.

I never meant to hurt you My Precious

I take a deep breath against the small hairs against the nape of her neck. They scratch at my upper lip and tickle my nose. Her scent is a bouquet of perfumes, bath soap and female musk. My cock quivers to life against the small of her back, pressing into the curled hairs along my abdomen. I stroke my thumb across the top of her soft breast and nuzzle closer. She moves in her sleep to accommodate me. She has a distinct scent. It is fragrant, heady, strong, intoxicating, beautiful, demure - exactly how I would describe her if I was asked. She has brought me more happiness in a few short months than a lifetime of memories has ever done. I have a constant need to be by her side. I am stretched taut like a rubber band each time she is out of reach. Her soft hand when nestled within mine comforts me as much as warm blanket on a cold winter morning. It is warm outside, but within I am cold. Icy tendrils have gripped my heart with it's scabrous tentacles. Looking within, I can no longer identify myself with this beast that has lurked so long inside. As much as I have tried to quell the ugliness that has borne me for a hundred years it seems, old habits die hard. All I want is for her warm hand and her even warmer smile to stroke this weathered soul.

She rolls over and I turn with her. She nuzzles her nose against my shoulder, her hair tickles my neck, spread out like a veil across her face and my chest. I know now why I love her as much as I do.

Perhaps it is not I but she is the only one that can fix things.