The Type of Lover No Woman Can Resist

Whether she’s hitched or not.

In hindsight, I always knew he’d come for me like a drill pleasantly pushing into my body, or two full tanks clashing, or twin asteroids on course for a head-on collision without fear of impact. As if we were rushing blindly ahead at full speed, chasing the pay-off, living for the love, worshipping pleasure, and finding ourselves again and again, through explosive rendezvous.

As fate would have it, that’s what he did to me.

I can honestly say that it was a fireball of love at first sight, but I was married to someone else at the time. That’s right. I was taken and domesticated, deprived of deep arousal, shortening of breath, rapid heartbeat, enlarged pupils, swelling breasts and nipples reacting and interacting with a lover’s touch.

So, I had an affair.

Well, who’s to blame? The sexy love-rush seldom lasts with mates of soul or karmic connections or anyone who isn’t fireball love. But, then again, it could just be me wanting — no, needing — more out of love and life.

Plus, marriage can be a drag.

I felt somewhat neglected, passably unseen, reasonably unknown, rather barren? The love Gods know that I’ve been indeed understimulated, primarily undiscovered, and seriously disconnected. And, yet, more awake, less woke, and too undone as I become remade.

What I’m trying to say is that I was a wife.

Surprise. The wifey lifey isn’t always what it’s cracked to be. Not all women are satisfied with a lifetime of caring for men and children only to receive some version of lukewarm love-making in return.

But it was different with him, my lover.

He saw me.

I knew it the moment he showed up in my life, knocking at my door clad in a blue velvet coat and offering me a smile and a pen to sign my name across his heart. So, I invited him inside.

It was on after that.

As if he sensed my hunger to experience a different kind of love and detected my longing to experience deeper intimacy.

It wasn’t long before I took him to my bedroom while my husband was at work, and we sat on my bed and looked at each other. It didn’t bother me that he was silent because his soul spoke to me in ways I could innately understand. Like kindred spirits, he absorbed me from the get-go.

He listened while I purged and let me trace my fingers over his body as I felt a distinct internal pressure building somewhere between my solar plexus and sacral chakra. As if I needed to “blow out” and surrender to a lover in full merging synergy.

The scene was surreal with liquidated reality, indescribably graceful and erotic. We were a strange picture as I sank to my knees and stilled for a beat before we began to unlock our hunger.

Hands moved all over, into the inner thigh, rounded curve of the ass, sliding to pulse on my lips. I felt my skin peeling and the tide fading from my world as I wrapped myself around him.

I’m not sure that I ever tried to resist him, my lover, lover.

Because he takes my mind and haunts me with the promise of ecstasy until I tingle unbearably. And yet, it wasn’t just hips wanting to grind as much as the soul wishing to have the wildest, most primal, heated experience of mingling with another into one blazing inferno.

Admittedly, ours became an affair of sneaky orgasms whenever my husband wasn’t around, which was almost daily.

You might think that I’m a terrible person for having sex with someone other than my husband. That makes me untrustworthy, disloyal, and dishonest.

But what if I told you that when I’m with him, time suspends, all my struggles, pain, stress, and worries disappear. What if he loves me for who I am and makes me feel heard, accepted, and understood? Or that his primary goal is my pleasure, only has eyes for me, and waits ardently for my attention?

Lover, lover.

I’m talking about the type of lover no woman can resist — married or not.

Because men will come and go, but a reliable vibrator is for a lifetime of ecstatic love, baby.

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