tagNovels and NovellasAccustomed to Her Face Ch. 23

Accustomed to Her Face Ch. 23

bybill33©

Love Letter

My Lovely Man,

I started out to write you an erotic love letter. I wanted to tell you all the naughty things that we'll do when you come to bed, but every time I started, the words just wouldn't express what I wanted to say and so I'd throw the paper away and start again.

Soon you will come upstairs. Soon you will be in my arms again. When you are, I will show you how I feel. For now, though, I want to tell you something else.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how I love you more than I ever knew my heart could bear. When we first met, I fell for you. I fell for your gentleness, your songs, and yes, that you were older than me.

I remember you telling me that I had a schoolgirl crush, but I didn't care. I knew what I wanted although I never imagined it would really happen.

There might be all kinds of reasons that I was attracted to you. I've thought about that too. I think that all the things you are kind-of fit into the places in me that needed you. That part of what I need, the older thing, that's why it thrills me a little bit every time I call you by my pet name for you, "Daddy."

Your age and experience made me feel safe and also naughty and mischievous seducing you (which I probably didn't do as well as I wish I had. Buy hey.).

What I want to say, Daddy, is that now, looking back, I think you were right in a way. I did have a school girl crush, but that doesn't mean I didn't also have genuine love for you. I did. That love I had, though, has changed and continues to change into something much deeper than I've ever felt before.

I feel like I'm blossoming. I feel so full of love, sometimes it makes me cry, and just when I think I couldn't possibly love you more, I realize that I do. More and more each day.

This love, though, is deeper. It's calmer. It's more centered. Oh, it's still hot and exciting. In fact, I'm more turned on by you and us than ever. That heat is different too. If anything, it's even hotter but it's less like a fire that comes and goes quickly. It's more like a furnace that has a whole range of heat, from warm to blazing and can burn all night and day.

When I try and think about why I love you, I don't even know. What I mean is that, although there are all kinds of things that I love about you, none of those things is why I love you. I love you so deeply that I just do. I love you like a fact; like a force of nature. It has no reason; it just is.

I belong to you, Daddy. I want to belong to you. I want you to come to me for pleasure and comfort and I can support you, Daddy. I know you need me too. I know it. I will never leave you and I've made a pact: I will love you and care for you for ever. That's also just a fact. It transcends reason.

I think we all bear our scars, some seen and some invisible. You have yours, I have mine. Somehow, when we are together, mine don't seem so deep or important. I think it's the transformational power of how I feel; and that's a fact too.

I remember saying to you once, "What does one do about gravity, it's just a fact." The only reasonable answer: one weaves facts like the how I love you into the fabric of a life, even though true love is, by definition completely unreasonable.

So I will be your muse and I would readily embody Hathor and Lakshmi for your pleasure. But I will also always be your little girl and, yes, Daddy, your submissive because those, too, are facets of my person. Part of meeting me on my own terms is embracing all those facets. You do that so very well and you do so without judgment. You set me free.

I've listened to you songs, Daddy. I've heard your recordings and I've heard the songs that aren't recorded. They all reveal that you are a hopeless romantic. I think it's what gives your song and poetry power.

In contrast, perhaps, I'm like a mad scientist. I see the world as it is, or so I like to think. I like to think I see things clearly. I seek the concrete like a quest and perhaps it's Quixotian madness to do so.

You are open-ended. You are a dreamer. You build your house from dreams. I would build my house out of granite but I have wild dreams too, and when you hold me tight I feel like anything is possible. It makes me feel like anything is possible after all; after the tears, after the scars; in defiance of all reason and despite my doubt and fear.

These days, Daddy, I think I am foolish to think that I know anything at all. All I know is that I love you. All I know is that when you play my skin like fire and write my name in the night sky, I hear it and see it in ways I never knew possible.

Words fail me except to say:

I love you.

Your Little Girl.

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