1.

I'm connected to you by some invisible bond, the strength of which surprises me. We connect in another world and it's like there is no other world at all, no other people, nothing of value outside of or away from ... us. We are in a magic bubble of just you and I and nothing else is needed or wanted.

I almost feel the warmth of your skin as you reach for me, to pull and hold me quite close, but not so close that our bodies meet completely. The flowing water rains and reigns over us, hot but not to the point it burns and through the steam I feel your eyes focusing on my face, trying to look into my eyes. I falter, afraid to look up in case your eyes don't reflect the same love mine do.

Then you take your hand under my chin. I see your chest, gently, you aid me with viewing your chin, mouth, nose ... my knees weaken and I send a silent prayer. I am alone but somehow you are here with me. We are one. My eyes finally meet yours and there it is. You mirror my look. You don't say the words, but I see it in your face, the softness in your smile, the love in your eyes. It is the same as mine. Then it is gone ... all of it, to the point I may not recognize you if you passed me on the street.

But it is all a fantasy, a daydream, something not real in which I wish were real. Why does my mind always do this to me? – not creating an unattainable moment but interrupting the fantast of one. Am I always meant to bring doom down onto myself? Hell, not right now if I can help it. I am gonna have my dream moment right now for I will find you and to hell with my lingering self-deprecation, soon there will be a return, back to my fantasy.

I don't know why I feel what I feel. I don't know why you feel anything for me. I only know that I'm a believer. knowing you has made me so. You are out there ... somewhere. I know this is so, for it has got to be. The remnants of this reverie have left me to crumble in a corner, the water still flowing over me and only me ...

There is something real, something left behind in my world, a remnant from the world we share, and I feel it is something left by you for me. A feather, a crow feature or perhaps one that belongs to a magpie, except it is oversized. It is enormous to the point it cannot belong to any world. It appears on my bedside locker after each and every moment we share, and it can only be there because you left it.

For I have an image engrained in my brain of us standing next to one another while you hold it over our heads, a ritual like gesture or something similar. It is the key of proof, the confirming element between the world of what could be and the world that is.

The last time we made love, prior to the shower, we lay aboard the deck of a yacht. I'm not familiar with such vessels, one does not often experience the likes of this in my world, I only know that the deck of this yacht was wooden, yet I have never been there, not prior to now, but the certainty ... what trickery is this?

The very smell of the vessel is with me, it must be real, as if the deck itself has been freshly cut, treated, and put together with the upmost care and precision, and quite recently at that. The soft creaking of it under us in the warm night air comforts me, and it also stimulates me in a most unique way.

Billions of stars twinkle and shine above as you lay over me, kissing my face, I see them behind you as I gaze upwards, responding to your advances. All around is perfectly still as you make your way down my body, kissing every inch of me, some inches even twice - to make sure you've not missed any part.

Now I know this is a fantasy, one I am overly comfortable with. If this were in the real world there would be one or two parts of my anatomy, I would not be all so comfortable with in allowing a potential lover to roam free this way, and then some. But this is not something new, is it? There is a certain longevity in which I can be at ease. It is not real, any of it. It can't be. I am not gonna defeat myself so easily, so back to the action it is.

My soft moans melt into the night air. Between my legs you settle and lap on me in time with the waves that lap on the side of the boat. You make me thrash, strain, and moan in such pleasure. C'mon now, really? I want to touch you. give you as much pleasure as you have me. I can't stop touching you, wanting you, feasting on you like a starved woman.

Heightened sensation makes it clear we are aching for each other, and even the waters react. You lay within me, moving yourself in me, rocking me along to the movements of the boat. You strain to bury yourself deep inside. We explode together and I swear new stars are born in the night sky as if we and infinity are intimately connected. We soon lay in unison and in recovery and a distant firework display feels as if it exists only for us. Explosive colours with momentary showers of awesome light, a visual representation of what we have going on.

It is not long before you pull me in closer to you, not wanting to lose that precious contact. I still can't stop touching you. I never tire of it. I need to touch you, as if it were my life's blood ...

My life's blood ... like, really?

No matter how we make love, it excites me all the same. No matter how physical it gets or where it occurs, no matter if it's dirty, hot, hard and fast or slow and gentle. We always end up feeling like it's not our bodies we shared, but our souls, a shared world or universe outside of the regular mundane world in which we live during the rest of time.

If only. All my life I've ached for that someone I've missed without ever knowing or having met yet – my lost half. I'm afraid to say that you are he, the person I fantasise of ... 'cos what if I'm wrong? If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong but who really cares? I'm not empty when I have you in my mind, whispering in my heart, holding my soul, and I'm not lost anymore.

Are you inside my head, inside my thoughts?

And there I stop, left this time only in my panties on a bed equally undressed, both satisfied and unsatisfied with seconds before the bedside alarm is due to bring me back to reality if I hadn't brought myself there first. I don't know if all this is overly sad or perfectly structured as to not disappoint. But I am disappointed, and the alarm only enhances that disappointment.

Once more I am returned to normality, and I feel ... inferior. How ridiculous it is to believe I at least in part, have a hand in creating the cosmos. The planets do not align for me. But what if he really is out there? Is destiny calling? Am I supposed to find him?

2.

We're one but not the same ... and again, reality slips ...

So simple a task it is to step into a shower. Illusion comes in my moment of reality, two worlds collide in as real a moment as there ever has been, illusion, what illusion? The simplicity of readying myself for the day ahead has me think of you speaking my name, right before your impending search for my eyes with yours. The water pelting down hot and strong. The emanating steam is not quite the same. The lone reality disappointing, disappearing against the illusion you have entered.

With soap in hand, I start to wash my body but hearing the shower door slide. I smile, no need to turn. Your arm comes under mine to take the soap from my hands. A well-practised move with us. Your arms around me, soaping my skin and gathering a lather. Dropping the soap from your hands you start with my breasts, circling them with your soap hands. I lean against your wet body, as you work your lathered hands down my stomach. to my thighs, slipping between them with practised ease, soaping, savouring my body.

How quick two worlds collide. The difference is something I do not want to admit. Your teeth bite and nibble at my neck as your hands find all my curves, fingers slippery with soap and wet finding easily my private spots.

How often you've done this. How often you've pushed me forward to have me lean hard up against the shower wall as you frisk me. How often I've turned to face you, bending low in pretence of taking the fallen soap into my hands but instead taking you into my mouth. How often ... how many times?

I've lost count of them. how afterwards when dry I lay in my bed. naked and curled up. How often have a imagined your arm slipping around my waist. pulling me to you again. Having me again. You marvel at my passion. my need for you. I never tire of your touch. I've said this before. Right now, it is truer than you could know.

Yeah, I never tire of your touch.

I never tire of touching you. I don't think I ever will.

Hell, I need to snap out of this, time waits for no man, or lady distracted by a man. My actions, or response ain't that of a lady. But we are behind closed doors, in our bubble, I am a woman with the needs of any other. Nothing wrong with love, if indeed that is what this is.