Wednesday’s Task. He texts me a photo of His worn and rough hand; though it appears unclean it
Wednesday’s Task. He texts me a photo of His worn and rough hand; though it appears unclean it is not. It is stained by the work He is doing this week. This photo and these words: “Use your imagination, write something on your blog, with pic. I’ll read tonight. Master” *midnight* exactly now and unless He is still awake, which is doubtful, I have, through a series of events (parenting; driving; a personal errand 30 minutes away) missed the ‘tonight’ deadline. I could skip it altogether, which would be a first, or continue. What imagination do I have left today? *pauses to close eyes, breathe, relax.* Apparently, quite a bit for when, eyes closed, I lean back, exhale fully and give my body to the pillow and mattress, by knee-jerk desire is to be touched by Him. To feel the length of His side laying along my arm, hip, thigh to where the top of my foot gently curves and rests under the weightless arch of His. We hold hands, on our backs. The further near sleep, the fewer fingers entwine until we link thumbs or pinkies…then, without guilt or feeling one is abandoning the other, one rolls to their side and backs up to snug their bottom against the other’s hip. Many times, we roll to our sides in half-doze concert and both back up to sleep butt-to-butt, foot to calf. I experience the most ‘right’, freeing safety the nights His hand is laid somewhere on my body. Not overtly sexual, though I am admittedly stupid over this Man and I would do pretty much anything He asked or needed; His hand on my resting hip or draped across my belly when we spoon, or quietly holding my wrist to my tailbone, gently, as I drift through sleep…free-floating because the anchor is sound. I love His hands. They welcomed and protect His children, through fatherly touch and written word. They are open to receive friends and family, and me, however I fit in. They caress my skin, and pinks it until it burns and tingles, those manly, attractive hands. And the only thought I will have after I post then outen my lamp, is how my body aches to be in His hands, again. SmartSurrender -- source link