The Rebirth of Slick (IV)

It's almost been two months since I've been getting the weekly Trey treatment, and I've been asked about my health as a result.

It's great.  Physically, mentally, emotionally...it's green across the board.  Not to mention the fact that I'm able to get aroused again, which is a definite bonus.  (It is a bit...tedious...for Trey to constantly get me up and not back down, but that's the subject of a Shortie, not a blog post)

Physically:  The toxins released from sore, tired muscles work their way out of the body in a number of ways; one of which is via the skin.  So for a while there, I was suffering from a serious case of facial acne, which...shit, I'm a grown woman and I was feeling about my face the way I did when I was a teenager, but that's ceased. This is in part due to me taking my self-care a step further and adding monthly facials to my wellness routine.  But it's mostly due to me not allowing my muscles to build up so much tension between visits.  I drink a lot of water, which does nothing but continue to flush the toxins out of my system.  So my skin is clearing up and people keep telling me how much I'm glowing (I'm sure I'd glow a whole lot more if Trey finished what he started, but that's a dialogue for another day).

Self-Esteem:  I've pontificated on how much Trey enjoys my body, and my enjoyment of his enjoyment is obvious.  He worships my curves, rolls, dimples and scars.  He appreciates that I'm not a size 4 and shaped like a bottle of tartar sauce.  He does not give a smooth, clean fuck that my boobs no longer stand up and salute (and if you're wondering if he gives me breast massages, the answer is abso-fucking-lutely.  Praise Buddha and pass the eucalyptus [When I grabbed his hands and put them on the twins, he didn't so much as twitch, but he did give me a big-ass smile, like, "About damn time!"]!).  And you already know how he feels about the bass.  He finds as many ways as possible to make me jiggle from head to foot and we both laugh while he's doing it.  His obvious appreciation is so...appreciated.  As a result, when I look in the mirror, I don't see the woman I used to see and I don't feel the woman I used to feel.

Mentally & Emotionally:  I've discussed the specific connection that I have with Trey.  It's intense.  It's also a much-needed and deserved emotional release.  I mentally clock out when I get on his table and give him control of my body.  He tests my limits, but he doesn't abuse his power.  Lately, he's been using his elbows on my back and shoulders in insanely slow and deliberate movements, all the while keeping one hand firmly planted on my ass.  By the time he's made his way up and down my back eight times, I'm usually gasping for breath, clutching the sheets, and twitching my feet.  I'm also...slick.  And if you're wondering if he's as stimulated as I am, the answer is yes.  Don't ask how I know this.  (Yet another discussion to be had at another time)

Truth be told, just 'tween us girls,Trey could roll me over and fall right on in, if you know what I'm saying.

Now if the above bit of wordy wickedness didn't make it clear, the absolute best thing about alladis is the rebirth of my slick.  Leoprincess mentioned in a comment about being "dead below the neck."  The phrase works for me because I honestly thought that she was dead, buried, and a repast was given in her memory. People moved in and out of my life, and in spite of relative attractiveness and decency, the needle didn't budge.  As young and as healthy as I am (and as dirty my mind is), the idea of never again registering above tepid terrified me. What do you do when you have the requisite, albeit powerful, emotional needs, but there's no physical outlet?  This tormented me for years.  I didn't want to live the rest of my life in the Sahara.  I thought she was gone.

Until Trey brought his ass back and I got smart and shackled myself to him once a week.  Then I learned that all she was doing was hibernating, and he woke her clean the fuck up.  Animals that hibernate wake up hungry, and she's no different.  I spent the first couple of weeks in a state of near-constant marination and couldn't help eyeing that poor man like he was filet mignon.  I fantasized about all kinds of things I wanted to do to him (Shortie, maybe?).  I don't know shit about Trey.  I don't know anything at all about him; not even his real name.  I don't understand most of what he says and vice versa.  He's probably happily married (or just married), a nice guy (or a complete dickhole), peacefully sane (or crazy as hell), but I don't give the slightest hint of a damn.  It doesn't matter.  He could get it.  He can stay getting it.  He moves the needle. He moves the needle.

I wish I could make him understand it.

*sigh*

Funny how life works, eh?