Someone asked me recently why I would write about such intimate things and post them for the world to see. Well, for starters a lot of what I write is fictional; or is it? I suppose that is for you to decide. Anywho… I decided to share a few of the truer intimacies between He and I. Because intimacy isn’t something to be found in sex alone.

It’s found in the way He always turns the hall light on if He notices I am trying to walk up the stairs in the dark.

In the way His eyes sparkle when He tells me He loves me. The blacks of His pupils dilating almost imperceptibly, the cobalt and amber swirling; even in the darkness of our room they catch fire when those words leave His lips.

In the way He stops to dance with me in grocery store aisles, uncaring of strangers staring. His hand in mine, spinning me in circles before slipping His hand around my waist and pulling me in close. His smile ever present in those moments.

I find intimacy in the way He’s held my hair every time I’ve been sick for almost a decade. Alcohol and pregnancy and viruses; His hands are always there, sweeping my locks into a ponytail; trailing up and down my back in comfort.

It’s in how He makes sure I drink my water- even knowing I will gag at the first sip. Every time. And in how He reminds me to take my meds and go to bed at a reasonable hour. Even though doing so takes my time away from Him.

I find it in the lines of His smile and in the fact that I know He has two. One for the world and one just for me. I’m not sure He even knows that they are different.

In the veins of His hands and the way His fingers have never wrapped around a neck other than mine. In how those veins map the arms I love to be wrapped in.

It’s in the way that no matter how much we change shape over the years our bodies still fit together like we were made as a single being. My curves and softness molding to His lines and angles like designer puzzle pieces.

Intimacy is found in His ability to read my eyes and my smile and the set of my jaw from across a room. And in my ability to do the same. How we can sense every emotion the other is feeling without a single utterance.

Our intimacies are found in the words He speaks to me every single night without fail. Words that I will not share, for those are intimate in the way that they belong only to me.

Yes, I write about our sex lives, about our kinks and desires. I write about the sessions in which He pushes my body and frees my mind. Our sexual adventures and exploits and missteps. I may write about our fights and the ways we make up. I may write a million stories about the things that we do and the things that we are…but no one will ever know our intimacies.

Our intimacies are found in a million tiny moments that no one else would even notice; and those… those are ours.

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