95%

Life is damned good.

I am lucky. Sooo lucky.

My job is enjoyable, challenging, tiring and interesting. I work with dedicated, inspiring, intelligent and fun people (a few of whom are becoming friends.)

My son is a bubbly little near three year old with a beaming smile, a sometimes serious face, a loving and affectionate nature and is beyond any doubt the most wonderful person in the whole world. I love him… I absolutely LOVE him. As time paces itself my minutes with him are gifts. He makes my world spin. I feel overwhelmed with love and contentment in his being in my world. (Of course I mostly tuck all this away so as not be overbearing and suffocate him.)

My family (for the time being happily) are well and I think the balance of keeping them happy and being an individual is being maintained. I love them too. I don’t know what I would do without them.
My other half, my boyfriend, my partner SOG is an amazingly lovely man. We’ve been living together for around five months and it works. We still share the same values and vision. I look forwards to seeing him and being in his prescence. Our little family unit is happy, loving and easy.
Sooo. Why am I at 95%?

It is healthy (I tell myself) to not be perfect. perfect is dull.

I want to be another girl. Seeing the wonderful gifts of life and stability.

I want more…. for christ’s sake… I always frigging do. What is it you want Fable? I want passion. Proper up against the wall passion. The sort that Cot’s girl describes perfectly in past posts. The sort I am too impatient to put words to today.

I want a partner who wants to put his hands all over me whenever he can. I am not the girl who says I have a migraine. I want kisses that feel like I can fall into them. I want my neck to feel like a place of heaven. I am full of guilt that I am not contented with my lot.

I am full of fear. We are buying a house together. We want a child together. We have a great future together. I am afraid that I could jeapordise it for passion.
I know I can live and survive and be contented on my own. I have the security of my son, my family, my work around me. I know I am outgoing enough to tackle the dating market if I ever wanted to without cold fear.

This means I should be afraid – of me.

I don’t have anyone I can really talk to about it because how could I expect them to understand? I have a good life.

I am not bored. I just miss feeling that height of passion. I am not ready to live without it and I could foolishly destroy the wonderful things in my world. I would never actively seek ‘it’ from another (i.e: cheat). I have talked about my need for it several times with SOG. I have fulfillment from all other aspects of my world so I should shut the f**k up and be happy. (Which I am 95%) The way I would destroy my current bubble is through leaving a man because its 95%. I know passion in a relationship with anyone else would mean something else would lack – heck, it’d be less than 95% so I should quit my jibber jabber.

Oh how amazing to be locked together, wrapped around one another, heat and sweat and sex and fire though. Porn and emotional haven for the selfish soul.
Maybe I am not made for relationships.

I am a weapon I sadly feel.

A quote I just found online: We often look to experience sexual “passion” when what’s really missing from our lives is a deeper kind of passion—the one that comes from living out our purpose.
I’m confused.

I try to warn the men in my life. I speak out despite awkwardness and pain and still I am unfulfilled. I ask what I can do for them… I’d do it, but they never want anything more. I want to be like that.

My fortune is that I am moral. I am faithful. I am not presented with laiden platters. But I am not satisfied and fed and so I whinge here.

Passion missing. Give me passion.