Bella vita

Yesterday, my baby took me on a day trip on the back of his Ryker.

 

I love the sun on my face and the wind whipping my hair around. I love to see the rolling green fields and the houses and yards, and the people out walking and enjoying the outdoors as we speed by.

 

I love the way it feels when he rests his arm on my thigh behind him and how he tells me to hang on when we need to hustle across a busy road. 

 

I love the way the engine roars underneath me and how the tires grab the pavement, and I love the way he drops an arm down when we go around corners to make sure he doesn’t lose me and to let me know he’s turning.

 

I love how happy and comfortable and alive I feel when we ride.

 

We stopped the other day out in the country by a herd of bison, and retrieved our drinks from the front compartment, as it was a warm day. While we were standing there, the owner of the farm drove by and stopped to chat. He was asking J about his machine and then he looked at me and said, “Do you know that couples who ride bike together have the lowest divorce rate of all couples at 25%?”  

 

I didn’t know what to say, so I answered “really? ” and he said “Yes. Really. Wanna know why?”

 

Before I could answer, he said “Trust…it takes trust to ride behind someone.”

 

We got back on the bike and finished up our day, but for the rest of the ride I thought about the farmer. It just seemed too coincidental, his sudden arrival and his words of wisdom.

 

But no truer words were ever spoken. That is the difference between this relationship and my last. I trust J with all my heart, and I’ve never thought about the fact that when I am riding behind him, I am trusting him with my very life. 

 

And I mean 100 percent. He wears full safety gear to ride, and even though I own a set of my own, I ride in jean shorts and a tank top and cowboy boots, helmetless. I’m sure we must look like an odd couple, with the conservative ex pastor driving around with a hippy chick wearing barely any clothing hanging off the back of all of his toys.

 

I have to scrub the dead bugs off the inside of my thighs if I don’t keep my legs up tight against him, lmao. 

 

He would prefer I wear my helmet, but the choice is ultimately mine unless we are on the highway.  So, I often choose to forgo it, and that’s because I know he will keep me safe. Yes, I know someone else could hit us, but I will die with the person I love, so if that’s my fate, I accept it.

 

Cuz I would rather die living.

 

When we stop, he always says “having fun?!” 

 

And I squeal and say “yes!” And wrap my arms around his waist and hug him hard.

 

That man lives to give me pleasure, and I have nobody to thank for this but Roger, for he would always tell me that if he didn’t treat me right, someone else would come along and do it for him. When he didn’t want me anymore, someone else certainly did, and thank God he was right because I am having the fucking time of my life. With my Daddy Dom. 

 

My only wish is that he had let me go sooner, when he knew he no longer wanted me, because he cheated me out of a lot of love that was waiting for me in the arms of someone else.

 

He didn’t want me for any reason other than what I could do for him sexually, or he would have put more value on me and made me important in his life. He would have done what J did.

 

Instead, he hinted at the possibility of us being together enough times to keep me hopeful and waiting and that is why it hurt so much that he did it for someone else within a year or two of meeting her. 

 

But the pain is distant most days, and I am grateful. I am grateful to have found someone that literally worships the ground I walk on. He shows me so much love and care that it is never a question of where I stand on his list of priorities. I’m on the same level as his child and that’s the irony in all of this.

 

One man treated me like I meant nothing, and one came along and treated me like I meant everything, including the air he breathes. And the best part is I don’t lie awake at night wondering if he is being faithful.

 

That’s why I don’t answer Vickie’s calls and texts, because I am busy being loved, and I don’t want to get dragged back into her pain. It reminds me too much of my own.

 

Now, she has fear in her heart and lead, too, weighing her down and threatening to drown her in her own giant pool of tears.

 

I guess nobody ever told her to swim parallel to a rip tide.

 

I think that makes her dead in the water.