My wife and I were challenged to write each other a Love letter about the other’s beauty and our desire for them. At the time, we were doing a devotional on the Song of Solomon. These are the two I wrote.
How I see You. Always
I see your character. Putting truthfulness first. Caring for others, doing what’s right. Not always, but close.
I see your heart. Pure and Lovely, Noble and True, Admirable & Praiseworthy. Not always, but close.
I see your creativity. Offering perfect design. Finding order in chaos. Delighting in perfection. Not always, but close.
I see your beauty. Subtle, radiant like the morning light. Noticed by all. Not always, but close.
I see you as my Rock. The one who IS there. Always helping. Always loving. Always able. Always.
Beauty starts from within and I hope the ‘Poem’ above captured this. It is where you derive your true beauty, a Beauty that doesn’t age. This is the beauty that has captured my soul. You need to know that as I write, I am spilling my heart. I desire to let you know my honest thoughts about your beauty. I’ve included some things that perhaps I could have omitted. But I couldn’t leave them out. Not if I’m being honest. Because they exist and they are part of you/us. I want you to know I’ve considered EVERY Word, Comma, and Period. I want to leave you with no shadow of doubt, to know that this is how I feel. About you. About your Beauty.
You are Beautiful. To Me, Especially to Me.
You are Beautiful. To Me, especially to Me. Your physical beauty is something that still stops me in my tracks. Some days I can’t help but to stare and to tell you, though perhaps not often enough.
You have always been beautiful to me, from the first time I laid eyes on you. Not in the flamboyant, Supermodel way that I have never found attractive. Rather you have a natural, honest beauty that catches my eye without effort. You carry your small extra weight with dignity and hold it at bay with grit and determination, rising early in the dark to fight it with friends and discipline. This is beauty.
But there is more. So very much more.
Your eyes. Your eyes draw me in and I can get lost in them as we make love, as you kiss me, feel me, hold me. Squeeze me. The memory alone arouses me as I write. Your neck beckons and draws my lips to brush along its gentle slope, seeking to find those special places that elicit shivering sighs. I love to explore further, winding my way from ear to ear, from shoulder to shoulder with nibbles and whispers of kisses, finding my way to spots I know well. The slope of your shoulder spills to the top of your breast, pale whiteness and a sea of soft flesh, a perfect resting place on my journey of you.
A most beautiful sight is you. Laid out on our bed, clothed only in light, legs extended, toes brushing the floor, arms stretched lazily above, head turned, eyes closed, a knowing smile on your lips as I stare. Hungry. In awe. Desiring.
Your breasts. They captivate me. Enthrall me. They are beauty. They are perfect. They are mine as much as they are yours and they draw me like a moth to a flame. I marvel as I grasp them, massage them, enjoy them. Marvel at their soft weight in my hands. Marvel at their smooth skin as my lips trace their curves. Marvel as their pink buds harden at the tingling touch of my tongue; Grow with the swirling, sucking, twirling, plucking of my lips. Rise with the pushing, pulling, gentle rolling of my touch. I sigh inwardly at the sight of them in profile, two perfect mounds of flesh, gently upturned, begging me to come near. I could get lost there, beguiled and seduced, if I let myself. If time didn’t exist. If other promises weren’t calling with a song just as strong. As I go they beckon me to return, seducing me with a sweet promise all their own.
Your tummy is your Achilles. The head-water of your insecurity. This brings me sorrow for it is not necessary. But truth and perception are two different beasts and you perceive imperfection. You battle and are never content.
I wish to free you from that but know I cannot.
I hope I can.
I wish I could.
I’d love if you would.
Rest secure in pure acceptance.
Understand that I know you will conquer or keep at bay through force of will or humble belief that this is/isn’t you, and find peace in the truth that beauty is not perfect, and perfection is not beauty.
You are beautiful. All of you, taken together, is Beautiful.
You are beautiful. To me. Especially to me.
Your bottom is perfect, calling my name, especially now that I know your desire. My hands love exploring under panties and lace, eagerly seeking to light that great fire. It brings me hope. Hope that I can find, discover, invent ways to please you more. Make you desire me more. Grow our intimacy more. It is perfection indeed to hold the soft flesh of your bottom in my hands, to run my palm through that secret valley. Touching places forbidden to all but me.
To feel the pulsing, squeezing, sighing, heaving of your longing, reacting to my touch and gentle probing. A fire is lit in me when you turn and nestle against my hardness, allowing me to press and push and hold and touch places reserved for me. Only for me. My fire grows when I feel your desire, your need, your want, your passion. When you open yourself and press hard into me, reveling in God’s perfect gift as I press hard in return. As I reach over to caress your folds, as I find your hooded secret, as I seek your pleasure and find my own.
And below. Oh, my! Below.
A flower laid open, petals spread wide. Mystery and beauty and passion and Life.
Where only I get to see, Where only we can touch, Where only I can taste. Where only I can enter. Whether hidden by curls or revealed, it draws my eyes, my hands, my taste, my touch. I revel when its mystery is opened. To me. Only to me. Laid open and waiting. Longing, pulsing, clenching, calling, clearly begging. For me. Only. For me.
Its heat and wetness are a siren’s song, compelling me to renew our union, partnering with my hardened desire to make us one. My longing to touch, to hold, to cup, to caress, to taste, to inhale, to enter is never far off. My passion to explore your silky folds with fingers, lips, breath, tongue is constant. My desire lurks beneath the surface, ready to leap forth at the slightest call, the smallest hope, the vaguest hint that you desire our secret touch.
My eyes. Oh my eyes are never satisfied when they behold what’s below.
After Feasting they hunger. After feasting below. There’s no greater gift for them to behold. When they behold then they marvel. When they behold what’s below.
I love that all parts are open to me.
I love that all parts want my touch eagerly.
I love I can please you in a place meant for me.
I love that from shame we are totally free
I love that there’s nothing we can’t do or discuss,
I love that its Love that turned two into ‘Us’
My dear Bride, please know that now and always,
You are beautiful. To me, especially to me.
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