Terra Firma

Writing has been a pleasure until it became a passion. Passionate writing began at a time when my editor/publisher started appreciating my writings. Writing has become a ritual, now
that my editor pushes me to the limit. I am afraid that it might turn to a rage if I continue to write at the same rate.

I begin my story not at the beginning, not in the middle and not quite somewhere near the end. I may lurch backwards in an attempt to backflash adequately, although I can never guarantee quite how effective that will be. The jigzaw has been piling up, one upon the other and the questions were fully justified in its essence: "How will this all connect?", "will they ever connect?", How does this connect with the other?" and so on...

I owe no explanation. I gave none either. I gave her an assurance, though. 'It will'.

However, the demand was reassuring to me as well but the deadlines made me die - for the joy of writing as well as the pleasure of waiting to hear her comments and feeback. I was not getting paid for the job. Nor was I being rewarded in anyway but the fact that I was getting an opportunity to work on my study as well as stuy while at work was rewarding by itself.

I cannot help myself - like an artist does a painting. Art is randomness at its best. There are no rules to start; no rules to end. Start anywhere, scarch anywhere. In the end, you have a beautiful picture.

Funnily enough, the prevailing sentiment is that I expect to hear, sooner or later, an expression; at some point, that these proceedings are not merely a waste of time.

It seems like so very long a time that we have merely communicated, and not been, quite, in each other's presence. In subtle detail I have described how we feel; and this time?!

I am not sure if this could be the moment of truth - in a literal sense.

The one thing i wish to experience more than any other at the moment, is to hear from you, "I love you". I want to hear the relief with you leaning on my chest while you open the river of passion that you stored for such a long time. I want to hear the same divine anguish that you wailed as you splashed for the first time. I know my recent letters had brought you close to a fearful climax. I thought I sensed the powerful arousal within yourself, enough for both of us to strain our vocal chords that will otherwise be occupied. Speak out, Cry out, Scream out your feelings, passions and ecstasy.

Say whatever you want; over and over and over, again.

I have a confession to make, I'm hoping that I could hold you in my arms, have you in my mouth and am able to feel you pulsate and tingle at the memory of the latest cataclysm.

My probing fingers, nose, lips and tongue will have explored the depths of the world that you are that you only show to those deserving. Could you feel how hot i felt? 'I was burning'. How wet I was? 'drenched' - like an overflowing mountain brook had just now gushed over me.

Another admission: I'm good at soixante-neuf, Madame...

I'm afraid I cannot adequately concentrate on another job if my body and soul are joyfully engaged in a conversation of physical convulsions. I could do my best, though, to have both events running in tandem as humanly possible, If it is a necessary part of the proceedings; as far as I am concerned.

Now that's a requirement for the distance between us to narrow, somewhat.

What do you want me to do?

There's one thing that isn't entirely accurate. My description of how this jigsaw puzzle would be solved." I have no clue". You wanted this to be an unending saga and here I am, groping in the dark, struggling to put these pieces together so that it makes sense - for you and for me. I do not want this to end, either. The challenge excites me. To discover and to invent, to write and to share.

I could continue this for ever but I do not know and I would like to know if you would approve of letting me getting into intimate details. For example:

Imagine us lying there, you sliding up behind me, whispering in my ear. Letting me feel the warmth of your body and occasional pressures - gentle; not forceful - tickling the back of my body so that i knew you were there, and that you had definite plans.

I never. Never. NEVER just lie there... Believe me, I'd give it back to you as good as i got it.

I feel your skin against mine as you constrict me. Your hands placed over mine, supporting your weight. Your breath in my ear, whispering extremely sweet nothings.

How my tongue, flattened at that point, lapped at you. My lips contained you. My teeth teased you. How my hands cuddled and caressed you.

As for the rest... well, I think you can guess. You are very inelligent, I know. That is what makes this exercise ever so interesting.

It's time for me to beat the work, to break the deadlock. I just cant wait to claim the prize - my reward, my remuneration.

Two days seems too long. So long.....