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hip deep in the velvety squish…

Dear Gentle Sir,

None of my words here are original or new.
Nothing I say here is a surprise.
Everything I write here is simple:
notes on the scale of wanting you
and your moans as you read me, are my song.

Not-So-Secretly Yours,

Lola xo

cumming to a head…

Dear Gentle Sir,

I’ve been thinking about the tip of your cock, the fullness of your shaft, and its shining bead of pre-cum… again.

Fuck me soon,

Lola xo


Dear Gentle Sir,

I gasped aloud tonite (just now, in fact), thinking of you. The swell of my need arose sudden and sharp. I need your mouth on me. I want to be with you in all the ways that lovers know, in ways we have yet to know. There will only be “yes” between us… and the stories we weave with our bodies.

Over the moon for you,

Lola xo

what matters is that you are flowering…

Dear Gentle Sir,

Your hug presses my subtle curves against your body as we breathe. We hold this embrace, we breathe one another in – the smell of my hair, the clean cotton of your shirt – we breath in our heat.

My heart beats faster as you slowly pull away but keep your hand on the back of my hip. I look into your beautiful face as your other hand slowly traces around my ribs and down my side. Your thumb trails behind as it rides over the soft mound of my outer breast. As usual, I follow your shy lead. As usual, your confident desire overcomes both of us.

I leave one hand on the back of your neck, the other rests on your chest. I am in love with your masculine width and tender breath. I want to stay here, encased inside your casual embrace, held in your quiet assurance.

Both hands rest on my hips now. You are about to speak but instead you look at me. You don’t look away. You play with a strand of my long hair, pause again to drink my face in and then you sigh softly.

This stillness…

It counters the fury of my heart beating. It balances out the countless ways I want to suck you off, lick you clean, suckle your skin in secret places, and make your toes curl with mind-numbing pleasure. It forces me to pretend that I haven’t stroked my clit, spread my swollen lips while you watched – smelling my fingers afterwards – before I put them in your starving mouth. It begs my silence even as my pussy lips swell and vibrate with my fuck-juices – these dark lips of mine that want nothing more than to grind in/on/ with you. This stillness of ours moans my unquenchable, wholly fuckable, loving desire for you… that has yet to abate and likely never will.

Our calm, unnamed certainty is the best of all intimacies – that roots itself now in the rumbling passion and uninhibited cries, jaw dropping moans, and throaty cums that are to follow.

Not So Silently Yours,

Lola xo


Dear Gentle Sir,

Before I fuck your brains out, I will kiss the palm of your hand and gently suckle your neck, just behind your earlobe.

Before I make your toes curl, I will wrap my tongue around your balls and hum my moaning need to feel you burst with cum inside me.

Before you watch me arch and squirt my pleasure all over your hand, I will ride and slide my slit along your cock with my hands pressed against your chest.

I will moan your name like a growl. I will moan your name with every buck and tug and pound. I will moan your name to the beat of my every pleasure. How we will dance together under this full moon!

Before you wake, I will fuel your dreams with memories so potent you will weep not to find me there.

Always, in all ways,

Lola xo

you just made me…

It’s windy today. All the windows are open. The leaves wrinkle the air like your warm, post-coital back wrinkles fresh linens. The wind reminds me of moans. Of our pleasure sounds. And how juicy I am when you’re between my legs.

It’s hard to describe the feeling of my long, silky and wet rubbing, pressing, pulsating against your strength and heat and bristles, width, and length. My body knows it, though; even now as I write it, my clit trembles and my lips swell at the thot.

I have to pause. I have to slowly slide my summer dress up and slip my silky panties to the side so that I can lay myself down on my bed and tend to the quivering cum I will become with thots of you.

How is it that the air carries the echo of your moans – some, the most delicious I’ve ever heard? How do your eyes manage to pierce my armour in memory and dreams? What mystery and magic are you that stops me in my tracks on sunny, windy days and makes me cum as sweet and deeply as I just did?


Dear Gentle Sir,

There is something about the midday light that elicits a particular kind of restlessness in me. It’s the same kind of shiver you can only see by looking in my eyes when you are say, feverishly swinging my legs over your shoulder to side-fuck me. Or, when you take my toes into your warm mouth and watch me moan and writhe with surprise.

I spend long periods of time trying not to touch myself when I think about you. I am rarely successful, however. Today, for instance, the image of your clenched jaw as you finger me into yet another feral cum spun me headlong into a series of toe-curling masturbation sessions.

And it is the watching – the way you look and watch and see me – when I am at my most open and therefore, most vulnerable; it is your beautiful eyes on me that somehow continue to rule over nearly every corner of my memory… and my imagination. Years later, I am still woven into the Mystery of being with you.

Today, I wanted to call you each time. I wanted you to sense how my smooth skin warms at the mere thot of you. I wanted you to hear my moans and throaty coos to remember how deeply you still move me.

I wanted you to ask me what I was doing… so that I could tell you how I couldn’t get the right pressure against my clit and so, just like when you’ve suddenly, needfully, and confidently picked me up or swung me around to suit your needs better, I too suddenly needed more. I wanted to tell you how quickly I pushed my bum back and up, one arm stretched out and supporting while the other pushed my lace thong down farther. All so that I could feel my own heat spread and put my full clit’s weight onto my knuckles and cum for you.

(And that was just the first round.)

With each round, I wanted to cum for your eyes and ears and taste buds and hands and cock and ass and inner thighs and heart and more… I wanted to cum for all of you. I wanted you here, naked with me in the soft, midday heat of this summer sun. I wanted you like I want you…


Lola xo

we are casual in our arrival…

To the uninformed, we are two people, neutral in our delight, calm in one another’s company. No one could guess that deep in the night (during the hours that bewitch the morning), you lick your finger and feel the texture of my juice. Still. Unlike your tongue, no one knows quite how my clit swells. Unlike your eyes, no one has seen me bend and beg and coo and ride us both to freedom. Few could paint with words the way you draw me deeper into these noises I make – like velvet grinding into steel. It is impossible for anyone to know the ease with which we sit together over a meal or a drink – every syllable our eager fuck, our sweet love-making in every swallow.

we are the telling…

Here, in the deep of night, your body misses mine far less than mine, yours. A steady breath sleeps beside even as our hearts beat to the rhythm of invisible nighttime wings.

We chase dreams; it’s hard to believe we are good enough. And yet, this I know: I never shone brighter than when your eyes sang my name and your mouth made love to me. My hand in yours – a sleeping nest of starlings wrapped in starlight.

My thots creep through the dark along this cusp of morning; it is a solitary time and it is anything but quiet.

who can no longer pause…

Dear Gentle Sir,

“Dime a dozen” doesn’t apply to you. Not when you change my sphere of influence. Not when you alter the way I understand “then” and “now” all while I am standing “here.”

No, you are the game changer. The one whose moans whispered through the line straight to my heart. You are the world-maker. The one who shifted the sky into earth and back again all with a simple smile and sigh.

You woke me up and I haven’t slept since.
What a terrible injustice it is to be the luckiest of the unlucky.
(But more terrible to not know it.)

Nothing applies to you that makes any sense. We haven’t evolved enough to know what this is, what time we are in between, us. Each forgetting is a remembering. We are the smooth, wet edges of the promises you never made.

Take my hand, let’s walk. There is no secret shame, no grave to dance upon. When you look for me, you see because you have given me the better version of myself; that is who I meet in the courage of your trembling arms.

This isn’t a happily-ever-after. It isn’t a fairy tale, a morality tale for the ages. This happening is the story of Becoming but how does one celebrate waiting? Beloved, we are the familiar, the failure no one likes to speak of—the rousing branch that endures its yearly bloom.

Lola xo


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