Thank You, The Credit Is Not Mine

It happened again today, that uncomfortable statement for which there is no correct reply.  "Alahna?  Well, that's a pretty name."

Do I tell the old man thank you, and take credit for it?  I, after all, did not choose it, it was my mother when she was possibly more sane than she is now.  Do I tell him that I will pass the message along to my mother, and I'm sure it will find her in good spirits?

It's like when I was young and people would tell me I was pretty.  I didn't ask or work for a pretty face or a pretty name.  Saying thank you felt presumptuous. I felt guilty, like I cheated on a group project and took all the credit.  "Really, the credit is not mine.  I would like to thank the Academy."  I felt that way as a child and it has not left me; though at some point, with but one exception, people stopped telling me I'm pretty unless they want to hurt me or fuck me, a distinction I make with the finest of points. 

Sometimes when I tell him I love him, he says "thank you."  It feels like he's poking me a little too hard in my chest when he says that.  You don't love me too, as much as I love you?  Of course that's not true.  "I don't want it to become standard, white noise."  Those words are special.  I think they mean more to him than they do to me, though when I moan, yell, whisper, speak them, I mean them no less than he does.

Today he kissed me like he meant it.  That's been a few days.  I laid on our bed, reading my book, and he kissed my neck, gently, softly.  He never kisses my neck.  My bones sank into the bed, my skin brushed against his - warm, no, hot - I turned to meet him, losing touch with my book, not caring about anything but kissing him, wanting  him, him wanting me. 

Is there a complete way to describe his body?  Are there enough words, enough ways to arrange sentences, anything to do that physical connection justice?

Tonight I gave only him pleasure; it was what I wanted.  I like knowing I have that power, though it comes with its burdens.  I need to know that I do well.  I went to him after like a starving puppy, give me praise.  See what I brought?  Warmth, life, sex.  Give me praise.

Instead he said, "Thank you, sweetie."