<b><i>Neshe's Diary</b></i>

Neshe's Diary

Neshe’s Diary: -- August 2003

Shy, simple, sweet Snama; simple and sweet she is, and the shyness ingrained. Yet, at the proper time and place, with the person right for her, she becomes a sensualist’s wildest dream.

She has taken me into herself repeatedly. She has given herself to me unreservedly, given me the freedom of her yoni and her mouth. She wants me to take her as she has never been taken before. And yet she has not shared a bath, a shower with me, I have not seen her sitting on the throne, have not seen seen her relieve herself of nature's calls, haven't heard the cute little tinkle a mature woman makes when spending a penny. She hasn't seen me spend one.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, said Shakespeare. There is high tide in mine these days. Where will carry it me? I don’t know. Frankly, I’m not even interested. The rhythm of it, the incessant beat, the movement itself is enough. Whatever direction it takes, what shore I touch, will be safe harbour – as long as Snama is with me.

Dylan said ‘Love is all there is,’ He wasn’t talking about the love one has for one's mother or one's parrot. He was talking about attraction, intimacy -- that wonderful feeling of following your heart to someone who makes you feel complete.Your heart bursts out of its cage and takes off in the direction it bloody well wants to take you --and drags your head along with it.

That is what has brought Snama and me together. Brought her here, across the seven seas.

With me she is, at present - though the present itself is a mirage. Becomes past sooner than we can pronounce “present”. And the future flows from the past. Muddled thinking?

No. It is very clear and precise. The present is a mirage – the past a beacon. The future is a dark tunnel one has to light with luminance from the past.

The past is also the night become morning, as she sleeps, sated, in the living room. There is an innocence about her that is heart-rending. A trusting that is so untutored, one is afraid that one may unknowingly hurt her.

I am mortally afraid.

She has said pleasure and pain are provinces of the same realm. She also knows that these do not have any defined boundaries. So do I. She and I have both stumbled from one into the other, repeatedly. But there is difference between us. I am a cynic. She is an optimist. I doubt. She trusts.

You, who may someday stumble upon this diary, be aware that I do not talk of physical pain. In my time I been through corporal torture of the worst kind. Snama too has the greatest possible tolerance for physical pain. Those five brands with the white hot signet that I placed on the most delicate parts of her body. She bore them with silence, with grace, with equanimity. So I do not talk of physical pain.

A fracture of trust, a sundering of faith is what I talk about. And I am mortally afraid, that unknowingly, some day, I may hurt her.

The total, blind trust she reposes in me is frightening. If I lead her into a pit, she will fall.

And if she falls, I will from grace with myself.

She has been here only two days – only forty-eight hours. It was a few to midnight the night before last that I said to her, I will take you in your anus too.

Today, when we got home after dinner and the theater, and were together, there it was. “N – unwrap me, find what you will.” Her note, taped to my bathroom mirror. I didn’t get the import and purport of it till I had disrobed her.

Hennaed scrolls on her back, either side of the brand I first seared into her tender skin – on the small of her back. Each pointing down and inwards, where the roundure of each buttock melted into the crevasse between the two.

The invitation, and the trust that birthed it, hit me with hurricane force. Snama, of course, does not know, what it would be, at her age, being opened there.

Raw animal need to enter that small, tight, unplowed assehole. Explicit, blind, unconditional trust in that invitation. The two had an effect on me I’ve never experienced before. A lust that impelled me to act, a tenderness that held me spellbound, immobile.

In my lap she lay, face down, her thighs parted to the full, either side of my waist, her buttocks sundered, her anus a target vulnerable in the extreme.

My eyes became fixed on what she had so blatantly, so trustingly offered. My heart thirsted to break in. My body, in its very intensity of its need, cautioned me not to.

I obeyed my body. I did not. It was just providence that her circumstance, her being thus open in my lap overwhelmed her and she broke, came, without being touched,molested,harmed.

The force of her orgasm drained her into a faint. I had to revive her by sprinkling water on her face, by kissing her back to a consciousness where she could feel and express pleasure and pain. I bit her on the neck, on the undersides of her breasts, and she retaliated. I knew she was safe from me, for the time being at least.

Her voice grew husky, the sent of her became more and more musky. Once again she was at lann with her mouth. But this time my mouth had reached her kuss too. And when, my hands reached her buttocks, she, once again explored mine, once again probing my assehole with that slim shaft of her middle finger, her mouth avid on my cock.

Bliss. It is Snama with me. Snama, my woman, my kuss.

When He Slept

Retreat

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