Hits Me like chocolate and red, red wine.

The last months have been busy beyond belief - again. It's odd how life swings from one type of busy-ness to another. What have the last months had in store for Me? Sex. More sex in three months than in the last three years. More SM than in 6 years. It's so bad that I see it in their eyes when they look at Me - they want to sink down on their knees and serve. And the vanilla world rubs against Me, like a cat begging for My attention, to stroke, to touch, to acknowledge their existence.

Still, I have been oddly unsated. I have given pain and taken pleasure, I have held and hurt and released, but still I feel like I am filled with energy that has nowhere to go. And with each new partner I have met the last months, I have hoped that now... this... it has to be the moment when My release lasts longer than until the shocks of orgasm have flowed through Me.

And so I am still seeking for the one who can touch not just My clit with his tongue, but can ground Me with his body so the charges itching just beneath My skin can flow through him, flow out and away, to leave Me sated and rested.

I have hope today.

he is a journalist, a good one, which means he asks fascinating questions, he does his research, and he knows how to listen. It's a professional skill he falls into when he is tense and nervous. And when I get nervous, I go nerdy, and talk on and on about stuff I really know. The conversation, the questions, commentary and depth was a turn-on in itself. If anybody listened, they would have learned nothing of kink, but everything of our speciality fields. But the whole time something purred in My belly, under that cool blue gaze.

I asked him after we had left the café if he would have problems with a relationship between us turning physical. The look he gave Me was so serious, as if I had pronounced his death sentence, as he told Me no... no, he would not have a problem with that. Later, as I sipped a heavy red wine with the left-overs in My own kitchen, alone, because I wanted to give us both time to breathe before we fucked (and because My apartment was a mess with nothing but left-overs in the fridge), anyway, as I sipped wine and felt it slide into My belly and stroke My libido from the inside, I realised what his serious gaze had felt like.

It was red wine and bitter chocolate. It was the dark sensual touch of melting cocoa butter on the tongue, and the rich spicy warmth of an oak-aged wine. It's the taste of desire, for Me, and I crave it in ways that drives Me to gourmet shopping in order to sate the demand.

And so I am hopeful, next week I will have him at My feet, with his blue, serious gaze and his long, powerful body, his questions and his knowledge and the weight of his consideration. And then I will try if perhaps, this time, when I strike his pale skin and mark his flesh as Mine, perhaps this time having one begging Me for his pleasure will hit Me that way, like bitter chocolate and red, red wine.