On the edge

Probably the nearest this will ever get to being published, unless a literary agent ever finds this blog and feels that I’m a gifted soul that needs to be in print.

Does hitting “publish” exorcise any of it? Not yet.

To CML:

I don’t like heights.

Never really have; more than about three rungs up a ladder and my little hands get sweaty and stick to the sides of it.  I clutch the ladder and can’t get any higher without the fear of falling off.

I’m not so bad if I feel that I’ve got something safe to hang on to.  I quite enjoy roller coasters, but I have to shut my eyes if they go very high.  I can be brave enough to open them at times, or peek out from underneath my eyelids.

I can’t look off the top of a cliff or a tall building though; it makes me want to jump off.  The ground beckons me, whispering, “come on then, it’s only a little step, it won’t hurt”. I don’t jump, of course.

Over the last few days, you’ve been coaxing me nearer and nearer to the edge, to make the final leap of faith and hurl myself into love’s abyss with you, borne only on the wings of angels.

A real love affair… there’s that word again, the fling-forbidden one, that’s never even breathed on one-night stands or casual encounters.  The one that suggests that you’ve lost control or broken the rules.

Or just moved to another level?  Sex without tenderness and passion will satisfy the body - briefly, but not the mind or soul. Add these two bedfellows of love and it becomes a wholly different experience, one that will touch the spirit, free the mind and sate the body.

We two want more; a true engagement of mind, body and spirit that transcends the casual grope, the once-monthly meeting in a cold, bland room.  We want to join ourselves, truly, even if it’s only for a little space, a few hours.

Over the past days, I’ve progressed from pleasantly surprised and slightly unsure, to swooning at the sound of your voice. You have wooed me with sweet words and here I sit, counting the hours whilst my stomach ties itself in knots. The images of what could be, will be, crowd my brain and reduce me to a helpless wreck.

In that time, we’ve talked, sparred, fantasised, lusted.  I want you, ache for you and may cry tears of joy when we’re locked in each others’ arms.  This is no fling, already, before there is even a kiss. I know it.

We’ve touched for only seconds, but in that brief contact there was fun and joy and tenderness. And danger. For in that leap of faith there is abandon, loss of control, the unknown. And love.  We will touch and taste one another in ecstasy.

The clock ticks on; by the time I wake in the morning (if I sleep!) it will be nearly time.  I feel like a child on Christmas Eve, or a woman who’s been coaxed to the edge of the precipice by an angel.

Hold me as I jump….