By on April 20, 2011.

20th April 2011

Sometimes the things he says to me take my breath away, can he really be talking about me? His words are filled with desire and passion for me, yet at times I look in the mirror and wonder what it is he sees that I don’t. To Him I am the sexiest most desirable woman on the planet, or at least that is how he makes me feel. Words are such powerful things, they can build us up and knock us down in equal measure but when applied correctly words can help us see ourselves the way that others do.

I position the camera and pose, over and over again, trying to capture the woman he sees, the woman he describes to me with his words. I know she must be here somewhere, if he can see her then why can’t I? I change clothes, change the light; alter the focus and the angle of the shot to try to capture her. I take picture after picture yet when I load them up to my computer everyone is wrong. I see wrinkles, grey hairs, unsightly lumps and bumps that remind me I need to get out and run more.

I am not defeated though, she is there, I know she is, that woman he sees, the woman he describes and so I continue, go back to the drawing board and try again. I am determined to see her. In the corner of the room he watches me work, every now and then he speaks, we laugh and share the moment but all the time, my frustration at my search for her builds and grates against my concentration.

“Christ, I can’t wait to get my hands on you again, you were made for me to use”

As I hear his words I look back over my shoulder at Him. Desire for His touch scorches through every fibre of my body and then click, the camera goes off. “Bugger it” I think to myself, another shot ruined. I have had enough, I get dressed and throwing the camera down on the bed I collect up my computer and leave the room. I am in no mood to look at the result of my quest for her now. Yet again she has eluded me, or so I think.

Later on that evening as I tilt the bottle of rosé and pour myself a glass of the strawberry pink liquid, I remember the scene from earlier, I remember his growling words and just as before I am filled with lust and longing for Him to be back here with me. I connect up the camera and bring the images up on my screen. Just like many times before, I cannot see the woman he describes, well not all of her anyway……


This weeks writing prompt for Wank Wednesday was ’tilt’. Click the buttons to see who else is wanking and wanton this week





Molly Moore - Author, Blogger, Photographer, Speaker, Director of Operations @Eroticon
Find me in my corner of the internet at Molly's Daily Kiss
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  1. Molly, I know EXACTLY what you mean. But I think that lust, like love, is more than skin deep. You ARE the sexiest woman alive to him and he DOES crave your body above all others, not just because of how you look (though you are smokin hot, my friend) but also because of how you respond to him, how you make HIM feel like the sexiest man alive.

    I look at my ass and think it’s huge, gelatinesque, sagging AND there’s an 11 inch scar across it. He says he loves my ass and that it makes him hard. I’ll take that as long as I can get it;-)

    • What a fabulous comment and I think you are right, it is the chemistry between us that makes magic. As for your HUGE arse I will bring a magnifying glass next time I stop by your blog and see if I can find the offending article….LOL


  2. Very nice writing – you have really captured that insecurity and uncertainty of “why me?” and “what does he see in me?”. Great.

  3. Funny, isn’t it – no matter how independent we are, no matter how much we think we don’t, we always need the comments from them. Soulmate is kind about things like that. I don’t think I could be with someone who wasn’t…

    Nice work – beautiful idea, exquisitely expressed/

  4. I half expected that last picture, the one of you looking back at him with lustful thoughts to be the one you found her in. But you kept real. We never see what guys see in us. I know we think they are visual creatures and they are attracted to our bums or boobs, and they are, but not because its the arse models would die to have (and you do have a lovely arse), but the body that does to him that no other womans body does, its something much more primal I think.
    This is great writing Molly. Thank you for sharing this with us 🙂

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