Another visit together coming up as of dark and early tomorrow morning . . .

And I am edgy. Not good or bad edgy. Just awake-all-night edgy. I usually solve this by driving all night to see him, but a speeding ticket or two, a broken axle, a half-dozen fender benders and several back-of-the-car naps have convinced me that there are better ways.

I just haven’t figured out what they are yet.

* * *

In thinking about what I most adore about the power exchange between us, it occurred to me the other day that it’s the mind fuck. Other people can and have rubbed this spot or that spot just right. (Well, mostly, I rub this spot or that spot just right.) And other people certainly have made things hurt very, very . . . intensely. (Again, that would probably be me . . . I can hurt myself pretty darn dramatically at times in some stunning falls . . . wowsers.)

But no one gets it all right. Certainly no one kisses like he does, loves like he does, drips sex like he does . . . and no one wraps his mind around mine while he wraps his body around mine like him.

He is a chess player. He doesn’t play soft. He always plays for real.

So do I.

Neither of us is stupid. We match wits.

A few times when playing, we have started to play against each other, instead of playing the game. Man does that ever smart.

But as long as the pieces (of me, usually) are on the board . . . the game is on.



* * *

Many more people have written far more intelligently about chess, sex, and love than I have . . . but that doesn’t mean they’re doing it any better.What about you? Certain traits seem to go with kink . . . any other chess playing tops out there (besides Beau?) Write and tell me about the games you play.