My Skin Is A Border


Today I’m thinking about something that is often suffered silently, but not publicly by many of us with partners in other countries:

Right now, I have sex regularly in Mexico, but never in the United States.

Recently, R and I have been through a moment. You know, it happens. I do feel that we’re on the other side of it.

But the moment would’ve been helped along to a resolution much more quickly by us knocking boots, of this I am sure.

When I’m in Mexico, there’s a lot of touching going on. The simple fact of sharing physical space, i.e., passing by each other in and out of rooms, scooching by R while he’s cooking  in the kitchen so that I can get something out of the fridge. Playful swats on the butt, sexy laughter and eyes.

And if we are in a moment, then we have to face each other, literally and figuratively.

I woke up thinking today how my skin is a border, that’s truly only touched when I cross a line in the sand.


6 thoughts on “My Skin Is A Border

  1. I can only imagine how hard it is. Yet no matter how dark the tunnel is, there is always a light at the end. You and R are stronger after all of this, Soon, you’ll see, your skin will no longer be a border.


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