The Fabulous Life of KMCassidy
I wake in the nude, cocooned in soft cotton sheets, roused by sunlight spilling across my eyelids; I have no need for an alarm clock. I rise when I please, with no place to be other than where I wish. I can hear the soothing sounds of the falls outside, beckoning me like a 'come hither' finger, so I rise and open the window. Just down the road, I can see the water rushing over rocks covered in emerald moss, its droplets creating tiny rainbows in the air.
I smile and let the gentle Irish mist refresh my face and neck. This is the only skincare I will ever need, as I am as soft and supple as the day I was born. I run my fingers along my jaw and take a deep, contented breath.
When my daydreaming is through, I begin to make my way to the kettle, but I can't help stopping for a glimpse in the mirror. My hair is a hundred different shades of strawberry and copper. It shines like liquid metal. I raise a sinewy arm to comb through it with my fingers, and as I reach, I notice a taught stomach and nipped waist, creating an enviable hour glass figure. My breasts sit at attention, perfectly proportioned to my petite frame like coconut snowball cakes with delicate cherries on top. I exist to be admired. I turn around, and the view from behind leaves me equally breathless. Not a dimple or mole to be found. With unspoiled porcelain skin, I am the stuff of famous paintings.
Eventually, I pull on an oversized sweater and buttery leggings out of necessity. I sip sweet, hot tea on the back porch and engross myself in my latest writing endeavor. Ever since my first novel topped the New York Times best seller list and they optioned it for an HBO series, I've been able to write full time and at my leisure, with considerable salary advances at my disposal. I guess it's true what they say - I really am the voice of my generation. Otherwise, why would they pay me so extravagantly even before pen has touched paper?
The next few hours fly by. I am in that magical zone where creativity flows so freely I have no choice but to let it out. I emerge on the other side of it in a daze, like I'd been in a pleasant hallucination outside myself looking in. I find that I am starving, so I take a break to eat warm brown bread slathered in Kerry Gold. And no matter how much I eat, I never seem to gain a pound, so I allow myself every indulgence.
As I chew, I turn on the U.S. news to see what's happening back home. An elegant Black woman in an expertly tailored white suit glides behind the podium and begins to speak. Her partner, another effortlessly gorgeous and poised woman with lovely mocha skin looks on with love and pride, so much so I swear I can feel it through the screen. I put my hand against the glass and it is warm. I can't help but swell with pride myself, knowing that America has finally become the world leader it always professed to be - capitalism dismantled, healthcare for all, pay equity among all genders and races, free college tuition, and lobbying and guns banned in totality, to name just a few of our recent achievements. I smile, as if Madam President can somehow see me through the screen, and listen closely for her plans to continue this forward momentum.
"Together, with the help of my other sisters in arms across our allied nations, we have taken the necessary action to avert climate catastrophe. Next, we set our sights on world hunger..."
Just then, I hear the door open down the hallway and am forced to turn away from the TV's warm glow. I would've been annoyed at the interruption, but one breathtaking sight has been replaced by another - my husband, critically acclaimed actor and native-born Irishman Jamie Dornan, is crossing the threshold of our front door. I probably would've married him for the way he says words like "down" - more like, "dhoyn" - alone, but it certainly does not hurt that he has a jaw so chiseled it rivals many a museum's marble busts. There's also the drown-in-me blue eyes, ever-tousled toasted caramel hair, cut six-foot frame and the fact that he sings to me every night. But, perhaps most importantly, he always brings me pastries.
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I know I just ate, but because of my permanently youthful metabolism, I do not think twice before popping a dreamy slice of lemon pudding cake between my lips. Jamie looks at me intently while I savor - "I love to watch you delight in things" he says, before easing my fingers into his mouth to suck away the sugary remnants.
Of course, this leads to an exploration of much more than finger tips, in a session that lasts exactly the right amount of time, per usual (an ideal 28 minute ratio we have perfected) where we obviously climax together while staring into one another's eyes, mouths agape at both our own pleasure and beauty. A scene so idyllic it should be filmed. We collapse next to one another, laughing at the madness and intensity of it all, before discussing the month ahead.
As he so often does, Jamie will travel to shoot on location in Paris for his next film, and I will join him in two weeks time. Until then, I will likely have one or more of my lovers stay with me at the cottage to pass the time. I crave variety and attention, and Jamie is more than supportive of my needs, as my happiness is his foremost priority. He, of course, will remain celibate until we are reunited, because he prefers to be ravenous for me and channels all of his extra energy into his work in the interim.
I lay on his chest, listening to his strong heart beats and begin to muse on who I will have during our time apart - there's Sam (Heughan of Outlander fame) for sure, and then I absolutely must see Theo (James of Sanditon fame) before also calling on Aidan (Turner of Poldark fame) in advance of my trip to France. I will consider making them don their character clothing throughout our time together, as I am clearly in a period drama mood.
My head is awash in thoughts of them all, and soon I find myself unsurprisingly stirred. Mere ideations of this expertly assembled parade of men has made me hungry again, so I turn to Jamie for satiation. As he traces a line from clavicle to navel with his tongue, I remind myself to work female pleasure and its critical role in dismantling the patriarchy into my next Ted Talk.