And then I woke up ...

Come on in, there's some great fruit and veggies to snack on. Feel free to watch the smoke and follow the images. It's what I'm doing.

You see I woke up and felt very satisfied, and yet there was something missing. Reaching to the side I felt an empty space and you were gone. Strangely I wasn't bothered ... just disappointed. Seeing those gorgeous eyes of yours when I wake up always makes my day. I heard noise so I went down the hall, scratching and stretching out the stiffness of sleep. I came into your studio and there you were, a large painting propped up, you sat on a stool, gloriously naked, spatterings of paint from your enthusiastic art techniques covering various parts of your body. You hadn't heard my footsteps so I helped prop up the doorway and watched.

Watching you move is always something that makes my mind kick into gear and my soul to stir. I don't think you understand your hidden grace, but when you paint it makes me wish I could watch you all day long. There is slight hesitation, a beginning stroke and suddenly you move with purpose, paint is pressed to canvas and an image starts to develop. You're so into it you don't notice the minutes as they pass. I am so enthralled by you I don't notice the sun move through the window frame.

A moment of frustration passes your face and you make a little noise back in your throat, it signals the end of your current session and without looking at me you say 'You know I'm hungry, you could have stopped staring for a while and made breakfast.'

I can't help be laugh and step up behind you. Our naked bodies slowly touch as I hug you and kiss your ear. 'I thought we'd go for some food. I know you want to hit the art supply store.' For some reason you get up and bounce about like a little kid. Of course, no little kid moves like THAT when they bounce. My eyes are riveted to that magnificent chest, and you laugh as you notice my reaction. 'I'll get dressed so you can stop being distracted, and then you can take me to breakfast.'

At the art store we act like a couple of giggly teenagers. I don't know how else to describe it. There is a certain comfort that belies description and we keep making stupid jokes about words as simple as easel. It'd be pathetic were it not so fun. The front clerk seems annoyed for some reason and barks at us 'Quit fuckin' around, buy something or get out.' Without a noticeable shift you turn and suddenly you lay into this poor kid. I've never watched someone so sexy and beautiful utterly destroy another human being with their mouth in such a fantastic way. It does nothing but make me happy. I try not to laugh because I know if I start you will too. It's almost a game, like a cat with a mouse. He pales and starts to stutter out an apology, you finish with the line 'Oh and since I plan on spending about five hundred bucks today and the same for the next few weeks, I want you to say three things to me: Yes ma'am, right away ma'am, and please ma'am don't use the big dildo.' That sets me off. I start laughing my ass off and the kid chuckles briefly because he knows he's off the hook ... for now.

It's too late for breakfast so we hit someplace that let's us eat lunch outside. You start to describe your comic idea to me and I can't stop being fascinated. You don't want to do anything beyond tell stories, every day stories, things you hear from friends and things you live through or watch. Nothing but that. We talk about it, I give some suggestions on possibly layouts, mostly just spouting back what I've heard you talk about. That you know so much about a subject that it makes my knowledge of it so small really turns me on. My mind wanders and I can see you naked on the table and everyone watching as we fuck. Whoa, back to reality. You've got that smirk on your face that says 'Oh great he's thinking about me naked again.' It's not mocking or annoyed, it's amused and fascinated. Someone might ask why I can find you so beautiful all of the time, and my only answer can be: because I can.

We spend the afternoon in the closest gallery and they're showing my favorite sculpture. Twelve figures in a sphere touching each other with delicate touches. I start to talk about it and my mouth just goes. I talk about the materials, the subject, the details, the meaning. For fifteen minutes I prattle on like some study hall lecturer giving a briefing on the next test. I stop and cover my mouth and look down to you, your body close to me as you hold my right arm. 'I'm so sorry, I should just let you enjoy this.' You don't say anything, you just reach up and grab my neck, pulling me down as you reach up on your toes, our mouths mash together in a passionate kiss. I can see everyone in the gallery watching but it isn't in shock or outrage. Raw passion is something rarely seen and anyone near it must see it. Must note it. Must mark it. Must witness it and be called on to say 'That is passion.'

When we get home we're both hungry again, it's late and the fridge unfortunately is rather bare. Using bizarre ingredients you let me make something mixed of mayo and veggies on saskatoon jam on Ryvita crackers. I take one bite and it is horrible. I spit it out and laugh as you smirk at me again. You knew it the whole time. You knew I was making a mistake but you let me make it and just smiled as I did it. Then said 'You dumbass. Maybe you want to snack on something else ...' Your robe slowly opens ...

As do my eyes. The house is different. I'm back in this reality. Glimpses of a cosmos parallel to this yet just different enough that we both fell into each other's eyes.