My eyes take in the cloudscape, just as one might receive an epic work of landscape painted magnificence at the National or the Louvre. I’m filled with wonder and free to find meaning wherever I choose.

FOMO. A fear of missing out. That thought pops back, and I wonder, is this the bait for my hook?

I cast my line out into the vast lake of my imagination and wait for the tug.

~ IX ~

Your therapist waits, patiently and attentively, and after all, patience and concentration are two of his most certain attributes.

He’s a Scorpio, and the focused sting of that Sign’s affection is a venom very often delivered with the patience of a killer, and in a heavy concentration.

“Where are you now?” he unhurriedly asks, confident the muscular contortion of your body has subsided, and your hyper-ventilated breathing has calmed, such that you might be able to speak at least.

“Fuck!” You gasp, “I can barely find the strength to stand, my legs are weak, my muscles, so tight and tired.”

“But where are you?” he gently persists.

“On the beach. Hugging the sand. He’s still here, inside me, behind me. He’s exhausted, he’s collapsed against me, letting the longest reach of the tide find us and wash around us.”

“I can feel his hot spunk, so fresh inside me. His cock throbbing, threatening to soften, but for the moment utterly unable, and eager to stay.”

“And what can you hear?” he coaxes you to continue.

“The sea. She sounds so calm, so soothing after the storm of commotion we just made.”

“And, ahh, I love feeling the grist of the soft sand rubbing against my bare breasts, I feel so free, so alive.”

“He’s moving, attempting to find his feet, tenderly slipping his cock out from inside me.”

“From the inside out I follow him, my senses collapsing around the space he leaves behind. I love how full I feel with him, and how complete our circle when we are one, no space for light between the curve of his Ying and the concave of my Yang.”

“He’s helping me to my feet. Our eyes still as bright as before. The light between us, a cats-cradle of threads binding us, nautical knots, tied and tethered, each of us anchored inside the other.”

“I’m following him back into the water, he’s walking backwards, his hands reaching out, holding mine, leading me toward him and further and further in.”

“The waves come gently, so warm and wet, washing the sticky grains of sand from my knees, and now they douche my sex.”

“We’re deep enough for the water to take my weight. I’m lifting my legs, floating, brushing my breasts with my open hands and washing the loose sands away from around my nipples.”

“We’re feeling confident and clean. He takes my hand, his eyes don’t stop smiling with mine, his lips move to softly mouth the words: “you’re beautiful” but I can only hear the ocean.”