Miguel: Part 4 Leaving

The clock was ticking, my time with Miguel was almost up. I started to become anxious about leaving him. I told him so. He kissed me gently and said, “then minha Belle, come back to me here, we will take a graduate program together.” I had no plans to get a Master’s Degree. Before meeting Miguel I only wanted to graduate then get a job. I had never discussed with my parents or advisers about staying on in Scotland. But the seed was planted, I needed to stay somehow. I was in love and the idea of leaving Him felt as painful as his belt on my bottom but my visa was going to expire in September if I didn’t enroll. We decided I would go home as planned, then try to get an extension on my grant from a graduate school in USA then come back as soon as possible.

I went home in May my heart heavy feeling the loss of Miguel as if I was in a desert without an oasis. I went to my graduation in June, feeling lonely and abandoned. The tears didn’t stop pouring from me. My family knew I must go back, they knew what the loss of Him was doing to me. They knew that if I stayed at home I would break and crumble. They knew He was my One. The One. After questioning me about my motivations, they understood, they knew I would make the right choices. They trusted me as always and supported my decision to go back to Him.  

With my parents’ blessings, I searched for a Graduate program and a grant to go back to Scotland as desperately as one would look for a sip of water in the Sahara. I was always an excellent student and my professors liked me. I was given high recommendations and my test scores were exemplary. I had what was needed, and mostly I was motivated. All who interviewed me, thought I was motivated by my love for my art, for my passion for design, my desire to reside again in the beautiful Arts and Crafts Style of Glasgow to study furniture and history.

They didn’t know it was my need for Miguel's hand on my flesh, my desperation for his kiss on my lips, the wanton lust for his body in mine which motivated me. While answering mundane questions about my studies or my future plans, I had in my mind the thoughts of how I may please Miguel with a single finger or my lips on his cock tip. I was thinking of ways I could make His skin ripple with my touch or breath. I felt drawn to Him as a compass finds true north. He sent me missives daily in his neatly formed script, telling me how me misses me, misses my body and my touch. His words in English were misspelled and crossed out in neat lines, where he corrected his grammar. The words were always the same. “My love, my darling. Mine, come back to me soon.”