Just a short little something I scrapped together today ^^ To take away from the angst of MB?
I thought that when I found a man, he would have all the charisma and grace expected of an aristocrat. He would have millions of words for me, each more elegant than the next, and I would never tire of hearing his voice, smooth like the finest chocolate. I was certain that his manners would best even mine, that his political life would be as pure as possible-he was going to be a politician, you see, rich and well-liked, just and powerful- and I would be the only scandal ever to tarnish his public life. He would throw the grandest parties and be the perfect host, serve the finest wines and have heaps upon heaps of willing, happy, well-treated servants.
Perhaps in public he would be a bit arrogant, but it would vanish behind closed doors, and for me he would be humble and conscious of his flaws. If not, I would teach him to be, scolding and nagging if necessary. I had no qualms against such tactics then.
His hands would be velvet against my skin, enticing, arousing, and unthreatening. He would be a selfish lover, but so would I, and together we would make love for pleasure and not for passion.
He would need me, and I would stay because I loved him.
The man sitting in our kitchen is nothing close to what I imagined. I step inside and see him there with his cup of tea, his unlit cigarette, and his feet on the table. His manners are despicable, but he certainly does have a million words, and each is more creative than the next, if none are exactly elegant, and his charisma is lacking.
Oh, he has grace- grace in battle, battle that has made his hands as rough as his voice. I live to hear that voice. His hands have killed, injured, maimed…but they have also soothed, and I feel no fear when he touches me.
He is a politician, in his own way, or at least to this town. He is well-liked, but if he has power, he keeps it to himself, and if he is rich, we have yet to receive the news. I would call him just, but his bias is as prominent as his ego.
Yet on one other point he matches with what I once wanted- I see his insecurities because he allows me to see them, and he is far beyond humble in the way he reveres me. He treats me as if I deserve his time, his care, his love. I take care to scold him gently, when I bother at all, because those insecurities run more deeply that he lets on, and many a time I have hurt him with careless words. When I hurt him, I feel a shame that surpasses any shame I have ever felt.
As a lover, he is anything but selfish, and with time, I also have learned not to be selfish. When we make love, passion is guaranteed simply because we belong to each other; pleasure is certain because our bodies were made for each other. We seek instead to give to the other all we can give, and in doing so we find more pleasure, more passion, and a deeper love than we could find had we gone in search of it.
He loves me, and I stay because I need him.
"I love you, Chief," I say in answer to his questioning look, and his eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, so like the sky he loves, light up as he laughs and responds in kind. He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and tosses it to the side, and his hand reaches out for me. I go to him, push his feet onto the floor, and allow him to pull me onto his lap. His weathered, wrinkled face with its crow's feet and laugh lines is illuminated as he grins at me with love in his eyes.
Sometimes, especially at times like this, I think he might need me too.
31 August 2010
Man, it's been a long time since I've written something acceptable from Vin's POV...had to share it with you guys. :D Thanks for reading!
-Rapscallion