The Old Bubble

I miss the bubble cottage sometimes...

Not that I don't love how things have changed and what we have now but it would be bloodly lovely to escape back to the bubble every now and then. Even if it was recreated in some way. I loved the laziness of it. The journey there gave me butterflies and my stomach used to somersault when I hit a certain part of motorway, seeing a particular green light on one of the buildings, knowing I was a few minutes away. Parking the car, feeling giddy as I walked towards the front door.
I used to feel frustrated, that I never quite knew where I stood, what was happening, how he was thinking. But it was a good feeling, edgy, unsure and it held my interest, which was rare at that time.
He was so much more open with sex then, more creative, more relaxed with a higher labido. I miss that.

Now I have affection. He has been kissingmy forehead and stroking my hair. Holding my hand as we, well he, has fallen asleep in bed. I love that. But just for tonight, I would have prefered him to run his fingers along my hip, sliding them into my kickers as he whispers to me.