August 1st, 2002 - Hanover Germany

My broken leg made it to Europe even though we had to pop for extra seats for it. This is worth it, being here with Greg in his home. The home of the parents of their parents of their parents of their parents, and so on and so forth until there were peasants to farm the dark fields that surround this house.

In some ways I am Greg's house and he remodels me. He kept beating his rhythm into me as I came just a little while ago, because that's what he likes, to feel me tighten and sink and fall away. He pulled me into him and we were stuck like a wet glove to a winter-snow hand that's just come in to steam near the stove. When he shot inside me somehow the moon appeared in the gauze/gold fabric of the canopy of the bed. My heart hiccupped and all I saw was the glow of my cum on his chest.

His parent's house has never known a neighborhood. It doesn't know what's down the block, because there has never been a block for this house to sit on. This house comes as is, from a time where the land around it, was its own little kingdom.

It's no wonder that none of the windows have any eyelids/curtains in Greg's parent's house. I'm say this because I'm sitting here naked, sitting in a large padded chair in our bedroom, facing the bathroom, watching Greg take a shower in the non-shower door gray-blue stone wall enclosure, and the dark trees and darker sky outside is sketching us.

Greg's got a small bowl of fruit on top of the partition of the shower and he's snagging pieces of apples as he's washing himself. That seems decadent. That seems wrong.

His G4 laptop pressed up against my cock seems wrong too, but you don't hear me complaining.

I'd like to kiss him right now. Kiss Greg. Get a mouthful of hot water, tongue, and pieces of apple something to chew on and swallow as I drink him in.

Greg is beautiful. I love how he turned just then. It's wonderful to watch that bulk of muscle at his shoulders going down, carrying his arm as he turns to catch a look at me as he's slicking his cock with soap.

If I hadn't just been fucked near numb, I would be in the shower with him right now, eating the apple out of his mouth and drinking the water before it even hit his body.

I love how his profile looks. When he puts his foot on the small tiled ledge that runs around the open shower, his calf flexes, stands out and so does his ass, being beat with the water. When he's turned like this, his pecs are so noticeable, and although not over-built at all; they are bas relief to his frame. When he turns, his whole frame turns because there's power in that, in that follow thru, no bending no twisting his whole body turns, muscles following muscles and his balls meet the base of his cock—because he's lifting them up with his wet hand drawing his cock hard in a sketch just for me.

I just lifted up the laptop to reveal my appreciation of his form.

He just popped another slice of apple in his mouth, put his face under the water, and shook his whole head, like a wet animal. But he has no hair to drip. His scalp is shaved and red with a few bite-marks from earlier, small little smiles for me, from me, for him.

I think I sunk my teeth into his scalp and chewed/licked/sucked it when he had to hold the thick wood banister of the bed earlier so he could fuck me harder.

I was held between the wood and him and there wasn't any room to move to go and it simply was him above me. My left leg pressed against his chest, the one with the cast throbbing off to the right in rhythm to his fucking. He locked me in between the wood and him, clasped the banister, almost ripping down the fabric that hung on the canopy, scooping my ass up and down and breaking me in with these slow deep drum beats.

It's that moment where I can't talk, where I can't moan/groan appreciate, because my air is being cold-cocked with his thrusts. Robbed and beaten, and this hurts, but this is a paying up of sorts to him, to use a backward redemption where we are walking back thru the hurt to get to the end paying for the fight that led up to the broken leg. It is this knowledge that I am doing that for him and he is doing it to me that swirls me like spinning a circle in your room, just twirling until you open your eyes and you don't see right away, you just feel the turning of the earth; gravity and stars build a bridge in your stomach, from your cock to your heart and out your mouth and it escapes in a dry thank you as he's beating his rhythm into me and all I can hear is his balls against my ass and the wood complaining in his fucking in his grip.

That's why he loves me so much, physically that is.

I asked him once wouldn't he prefer someone as bulky as he is? I mean he's right at 240 and a tall guy. I'm over six foot but near 80 pounds later.

He says he loves to grip my hips and hold me to him as he's entering me. Says it's something about the control, but more about the trust, because even though I'm not near as built, there's a power within me. Kind of a red-fuzz ball vibration he said he feels when he holds me like that, and it is my willingness to let him hold me, keep me, sink into me, that amazes and enthralls him.

That's why I took some extra pain pills tonight. My broken leg is throbbing. I knew late tonight when he was behind me, insisted on undressing me that he was needing me and needing me in this way.

My eyes melted into his so he could see just what he was doing to me and how he had made me. He leaned into me, his hand wet with sweat, slipping on the wood, and gripping my shoulder, his jaw tensed face breathed air made out of melting sand stinging across my chest, and he said,


And I did as he thrust me through that moment. That sound, his words, that feeling his cock, like the dullest knife paring me into him, for him.

I came and I painted him.

I wanted to lick the wet shine on his teeth as he bared them, cumming into me with a needle that spread and turned into a million more needles, all orange and soft at the tips, with a pressure that grew in my ass, that started at up my spine and unfurled like wings thru my back. Wings that folded in and made my chest blind with fuzzy darkness and I imagined I was the devil's angel and that this was as close to any eternal as I would ever get, because he was just at his end, still pumping me, and I came again.

What I remember next is the comforter on my face. It felt kind of stiff, but soft, a decorative button was biting into my cheek. I next heard the sound of steam.

Greg had already washed me down with a rag, because my dick was pink, warm, and grateful.

So I decided to pick up the laptop and write while I still felt the red-fuzz balls curling through my ass, and singing through me.

I am fucking sore 'this is reverse pain control' my broken leg is a slow fire, incense burning inside the cast, but this is the price of my mountain. It's the price of my husband.

I shouldn't have watched him while he is showering.

I'm too hard for the laptop to sit here like this, any second now, and my dick is going to start typing.

I am so lost in him. He's a hedge-maze that I want to be tangled in. We'll water and sun together the rest of our days, our branches will defy God and we will never be solved as he heals my broken bones.




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