The Ghosts We Live With

Sometimes when I am alone and pleasuring myself I am overcome with sobbing immediately after I orgasm. It is a pretty rare occurance these days, but it once happened fairly reguarly. It is as if the release is so complete that the mental filters that keep my emotions in check are temporarily breached allowing everything to come spilling up and out. It is not so much sadness that I feel in these moments, but a longing for him.

I am almost always thinking of him when it happens, wishing he was with me to witness my pleasure. My sexual appetite is always more intense when shared with him. I long to watch him take his cock in his hand for me, stroking it for my enjoyment, and watch the fountain of his release spurt all over his hands, licking my lips like a vampire on the hunt at the thought of tasting him.

He opened a door to my sexuality I never knew existed. He led me to an opulant, sometimes dark corner of my mind filled with lust, desire, longing, punishment and pain. It's a corner that belongs only to him;I have surrendered ownership of it. Others have attempted to stake claim to it, but it's never completely theirs.

The tears come from this corner of my mind. They come at long last with an acceptance that we can't always get what we want, that letting go is often a matter of self preservation, and that we only greatly mourn that which was great. I enjoy a peaceful acquiesence now to the fact that I am forever joined to him by our shared past, and by the secret places within each other that only we know.