The Woman I Love: Through My Eyes

May 18, 2010 at 11:54 pm (Through My Eyes) (, , )

She is my baby girl:
She delights in small, simple things. Cuttings of blue hydrangeas centered on the table. The playful antics and loving cuddles of her cat, Simon. Any opportunity to freely, and with girlish joy, become lost in spontaneous dance in the kitchen, the hallway, wherever the music moves her.

There is a child-like excitement to her laughter; it is sincere, uninhibited, and fills the air around her like sunshine in the park. She is ticklish in certain places and giggles shyly when I find them. She falls asleep with the ease of a newborn. She breathes deeply the peaceful sleep of a child. Watching her sleep is one of the most tender things I know and is the best remedy for my own sleeplessness. Her skin is as smooth as the day she was born, like soft satin flesh everywhere I touch her. There is a wonderfully wicked smile that crosses her full lips when she is up to something and the game is afoot; that smile makes me weak in the knees. And the pout she flashes me when she doesn’t get her way—or thinks she won’t—runs through me like liquid fire. She is my baby girl. And, when Daddy is home, she is denied nothing. 

She is my best friend:
From the day we met, almost 27 years ago, there was a bond between us that seemed to have always been there, like the favorite place you sneaked off to as a kid and only half remembered until you stumbled on it years later. I have always been able to tell her anything. Throughout my life, there have been few people I have trusted, but I have trusted her with things I have told no other—she remembers even the old things and they are still between us. She was, for years, the only person I felt safe enough with to fall asleep first, to cry if I needed to, or to laugh and play in silly, child-like ways. I hold nothing back from her and never have. She was the only person I would watch The Wizard of Oz with; otherwise, I watched it alone—this is because she is the only person I would allow to see me cry when Judy Garland sings Over the Rainbow.

I can laugh with her about anything—even things that hurt. Even when I feel broken by some thrashing from the world, we find a way to laugh. And, I am healed. When I chased her around the house like a teenager in heat and caused her to break her toe, she never once blamed me. She even laughed and tried not to cry. She plays in the snow or throws ball with me and her son. She indulges our boyish games and giggles like the good sport she is.

Through her deep brown eyes, she sees me. And, always has. Her understanding of me is quiet, unintrusive and gentle, like my reflection in the mirror of a softly lighted room. She accepts me as if she is receiving something both commonplace and unexpectedly given just to her, like moon light falling through the bedroom window. She shows herself to me and knows I will keep her close and watch over her. She holds my secrets and my dreams like keepsakes hidden in a wooden box. And even though she knows how well I can handle myself, how strong I really am, she protects me as if I were a baby cub. She is my oldest and dearest friend. I am her sweet baby boi and woe to anyone who tries to hurt me. 

She is my lover:
She walks with the slightest sway in her hips—it is subtle, like the grown up remnants of a cheerleader’s trained and youthful strut. I purposefully walk just behind her so I can watch her and admire the strength of her legs, her ass. She pretends not to notice so that I can feel as if I am stealing glances, but I know she knows.  She has the breasts of a teenager; her nipples rise firmly at the touch of my tongue. I find myself thinking of this when she is talking and become aware I am staring. She feigns annoyance, points to her face and reminds me, “I’m talking up here, honey.” She smiles to herself when she thinks I am not looking. She bares herself to me completely and I am made one with her through her giving and my receiving. She touches me with an honesty I have never known with anyone but her—her touch gently breaks me open to her like Spring breaks the earth and brings forth bright blooming things.

Her lips are like strawberries, full and firm and sweetly soft. Kissing her is such an expression of intimacy and affection that it takes my breath and returns it to me kindly. I know and attend to every sound of her arousal, every change in her breathing. We breathe each other. The connection between us is a live wire crackling on the ground around us. Her mouth parts and I am joined with her. Her legs open and the depth of her is revealed to me. She wraps her legs around me hard and tight and I am made whole. Her hands reach for me, grasp at me; her nails pierce my skin and I am brought forth into her. She comes in waves like an ocean of ecstatic love and I am cleansed. She takes me into her mouth as if I am a gift—her head moves up and down on my boi-clit and I am made large and strong and complete. I am at her mercy. And merciful she is. She is relentless in her giving. She moans and gasps at my arousal, at my hand pressing the back of her head, my fingers pulling at her hair. Strings of near obscenities and romantic ramblings fall from my mouth like a storm. I come into her and she absorbs me gladly. In all we do, there is a joining of more than bodies. This is not simply loving recreation; it is re-creation. We are raised up, burned to ashes, and born again. 

She is my baby girl. I am her butch daddy. And, I deny her nothing. She is my best friend and, as such, she shows myself to me. She reveals herself to me. She is my lover. I am her baby boi. And, she denies me nothing. She is the woman I love.    

NOTE:  This work is published here as proprietary and may not be reproduced, distributed, sold, or otherwise utilized outside the posting on this site without the express permission of the author; these works are the sole property of the author writing as Androgynonamous or DreadPirateRobert.


  1. Scintillectual said,

    Oh, my. What a wonderful way to start a new day. The ego within me loves to read about the ways in which you see me. The skeptic (self-destroyer) scoffs and mocks the ego, “that’s not you,” she says. But I know this is the me that you see and I love you all the more for it. It’s nice to know that I’m not always a shrieking shrew of a single mother who struts and frets her hour upon the stage—you see that which makes me want to be even more for you.

    I so love you, my butch daddy, my best friend, my sweet baby boi.

    You are and ever shall be my one and only.

    Je t’aime mon bebe deux, je t’aime. Merci.

    • androgynonamous said,

      Sweetheart, you are welcome. I am very happy that you are pleased with this piece. There are many things I see in you that you do not see in yourself–as there are things you see in me that I do not. That is, however, one of the wonderful things about love, the lifting up of the other while truly seeing her. You are all the things I see in you and more. The skeptic should not scoff and mock. As you know, I am not blinded by some silly infatuation; I see you as you are and love you with maturity and commitment. It is easy to write about you, by the way; so you should expect more. I am ever your butch daddy, your best friend, your baby boi. Je t’aime.

  2. Blazer said,

    To love and be loved in so many ways and on so many levels is an incredible gift. The trick for many of us is to accept that we are deserving of such a tribute and for others to trust that it is appreciated and cherished in the same expanse to which it is given. The kind of love the two of you share makes you both not only stronger but each more vulnerable. You have to trust in the butch daddy and in the protective mama to provide shelter against whatever my come your way in the many years ahead. I love you guys!

  3. androgynonamous said,

    We love you too! Your abilites to see us, support us and watch us grow are gifts, indeed. Thank you for this wisdom. I believe these statements are solid wisdom we will remember–I know I will. Thanks so much for you willingness to walk with us. Peace, my friend.

  4. kerie said,

    That’s the gift of love, seeing past all the day to day stuff to see the woman beyond it all. Lucky you 🙂

    • Scintillectual said,

      Whatchoo talkin’ ’bout, Willis? I’m like this ALL the time! You think there’s day to day stuff to see past? Pshaw! Girl, I’m so hot, you gotta stand back just to keep from gettin’ sunburned by the ray’s shooting off my golden skin. Bahahahaaaaaaaaaaa! 😉

      • androgynonamous said,

        Right you are, baby. You are like this ALL the time…but careful how much you let out of the bag; it will make all of the regular girls feel inferior and cause them to look away in fear and awe…it is hard to bear the light of a goddess!! LMAO!!!

    • androgynonamous said,

      Thanks, mate. However, I must say, I really was talking about the day-to-day stuff…this piece really is what we are like, what she is like. Now, that is not to say my baby girl is not human; she is. We both are. But, for the most part, this post is what she is like and what we are like together in the average day. How cool is that, right?? I am a very lucky woman. And, now and then, I just have to wax on about her. She truly is a gift. And, like she said to you, she IS so hot you gotta stand back!!
      All playing around aside, thank you for the kind thoughts. Nice to hear from you. Peace, mate…

  5. kerie said,

    @scin, I dare not look past the day to day for fear of being blinded by your light…I am just a regular girl 😉

    @andro, It’s very cool you have a super-hot goddess…wear sunscreen 😀

    • androgynonamous said,

      Thanks for the advice buddy. I have some serious sunscreen and some pretty decent sun glasses…I should be OK!! Have a good week!!

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