Tag Archives: a ritual to read to each other

no magic formula…

Put your hands on my knees,
she said,
and think of me as a book you’ve been dying to read.

—Michael Faudet—

forty two (or, ice cream and candles), part 2…

“I want to make a mess for you.”

Another long, deep, ravenous kiss inside the doorway.

“Would you like that?”

You blush in reply and push me up against the door, just pressing your body’s full length and width against mine. Of course I moan. Fuck, just feeling your weight against me makes me moan so deeply, I feel my clit vibrate that sends a shiver down to another moan.

“I’m going to cum for you, ok?”

You don’t reply but you don’t have to; your smile gives you away—it’s that secret smile you make when you’re at a loss for words. When the power of what you desire from me overwhelms you. I mean, there are only so many yes’ one man can say.

The dark night has locked us away in a breathy silence.

“Do you trust me?”

You nod. I kiss your neck gently as I tie the soft blindfold over your eyes. It’s quiet for a time. You can hear me moving about the room. I want all your senses attuned to me. Soon, we will be moving as one.

I return to you and begin to undress myself slowly. I want you to hear my nakedness unfold. I want you to picture me. Oh, fuck, how I want you to anticipate me. My smells bloom beneath you. I contemplate leaving my panties on, just so you can take them off me… but now, I don’t want anything between us. As they softly drop to the ground, you catch a whiff of my holy wet. Your cock jumps with recognition.

I then slowly remove your clothes. You are surprisingly unselfconscious; you are focused on the air between our bare skin. You can feel brief moments of shared heat. You gasp anytime we almost touch. When you are finally naked, I pause. You know I am looking at you, taking my time, drinking in every inch of your tall and wonderful body. I sigh. I am so turned on, standing naked like this with you.

“Oh my fuck, you are so beautiful.”

I don’t know who moans first and really, it doesn’t matter. What matters, is tasting you. I gently trace your lips with my tongue and you just barely feel the rounded edges of my air-cooled nipples as they lightly slide along your hot chest. You clench your fists; you’re not ready to fully touch or hold me. We both want to extend this delicious dance of Almost.

You feel me circling you. Each pause is different, there is no recognizable tempo to my greed and curiosity; I just want you in your entirety and I plan to take my time. I begin inhaling you and breathing into you. Then, lightly tracing you with lips, fingertips, nipples, hips, thighs, back and various other body bits… until finally, my palms and fingers hold, caress, press, grip, squeeze, and pull. In tandem, my mouth kisses, suckles, and then sucks. Your breath pitches into moans of basest pleasure.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Your moan is guttural. You nearly rip off the blindfold and fuck me right there on the carpet. You know you could, too. Without even looking, you know that my clit is thick and swollen, that my pussy folds are hot with shining juice and totally fucking swollen with impatience.

“Because I don’t want to stop.”
“But I do want you harder.”
“Mmhm, that, too.”

I am everywhere now, even between your legs—both your hanging balls slip into my mouth, your ass crack is slick from my tongue, and your toes and ankles tingle from my sucks and kisses. I swoop in at random times just to lick the pre-cum off your hot, shiny-with-taut, pulsing cock.

But still you don’t touch me. If you try, I gingerly step away. Your moans become a mixture of joy and frustration… of ache and longing… of need, of need, of—

“Do you want me?”

Your knees buckle a bit. You hear unmistakable desire in the huskiness of my voice. Your mouth waters with your own lust.

“Take it off—the blindfold. Please… I can’t wait any longer…”

There I am on the sofa in front of you, on my tummy, grinding my clit down on my fist, just the way I like it. Exposed. Vulnerable. I have no idea how sexy I am to you in this moment. Looking at you with my brows furrowed, my jaw slackens as each exhale gently rolls into cascading moans. You take a step towards me—


You stop in your tracks. My  moan weaves through my words,

“You… your… cock. Show. me.”

It is all the permission you need. One hand cups your balls and presses down on that secret pleasure spot—the same one my mouth sucked on a short time ago—while your other hand grips and glides up and down your beautifulfuckingthrobbing shaft. I moan, adjust myself so I can pick up speed.

“Tell me,”

I beg,

“Tell me how much you want me.”

You moan your gorgeous moan.

“Show me—your cock—gasp—please—OH—(moan)—show.me.show.me”

You are heating up.


We both pick up speed.

“Show me how much you want to fuck me—”

Your eyes dart between my face and the intoxicating rhythm of my gyrating hips.  My arm muscles flex as I push up against my clit, trying to find my grip despite the slick—the slick you can hear now, louder and louder in echo to our moans. When I ask you again, more urgently,

“Tell me.”

Your voice catches at first; all you can do is nod, and then,


I beg,


I start to buck up and down on the couch. The springs give my eagerness away. You cry out.


Again, I beg,

“Yes? YES?!!”

When you reply,

“OHhhh, FUCK, YES,”

I release myself and turn to face you—ass up—my cunt a wet invitation… a smooth, thick, luscious backdoor offer.


With great force, you grab my hips, and plunge your meaty pole inside me. My arms outstretched, anchoring myself against the back of the sofa and cushions. I’m not tempering my cries and moans of pleasure in the least.


You love how I push back into you, arching my back, doing anything I can to get you as deep as fucking possible into me.

I shift my weight to my left leg and turning slightly towards you, we position my right leg up over your shoulder. You plunge even deeper than before. Your top hand grabs my tit and squeezes. My nipples are at your mercy.

This makes me wild. You make me wild. I meet your thrusts with my own. My right hand reaches for your face but my body is wracked with such force and pleasure, all it can do is sway with our fuck-rhythm. My other arm continues to brace us against the back of the sofa.

This angle is perfect: you can watch yourself slide in and out, my pussy lips slurp on your thick rod. You can watch my tits swing and enjoy how my cheeks flush each time you dive into me. I’m also watching you take us—all this—in; I feel amazing being with you like this. Watching your pleasure is almost as good as the pleasure you’re giving me. Your jaw tenses with effort and I am overcome with a need to stroke it, to hold your beautiful face.

“Come, make me cum.”

I lie down on the couch and try to pull you on top of me but instead, you stay at the end of the couch, push my legs up by my ears. As you do, you kiss the length of my right leg, pausing to suckle my toes. I suddenly feel shy by this but I give in to your delight, I give into your courage to be with me like this, I give into what pleases you: you pause with a little gasp as my left foot traces your bobbing cock, up your chest, and I offer my other foot. You look me in the eye as you lick and suck on both my feet and toes. Your eyes darken the way they do when you finally give into the wild abandon of your needs. Seeing you like this inspires a deep moan from the back of my throat.

You are already driving me more than a little crazy. I squeeze my tits as I anchor my legs against you. You spread me wider as you dive down with your mouth. I gasp, unable to breathe; your warm mouth feels so fucking good. Your hands begin to work in unison with your lips, tongue, and teeth; I can’t tell what’s dipping, what’s pressing, probing, pinching, circling or sucking… my ass, cunt, and clit are your playground. My hands pull your hair, tug at your ears—they guide you as much as follow; we linger where we must. You prefer the spots that make me cry out—the spots where I instinctively grind my cunt into your sweet face.

You come up for air and I lift my hips with you; I don’t want you to stop. But you want to see the effect of your handiwork. We are both drenched in sweat. My big brown eyes are shiny and wide. My mouth is open, panting. I am Moaning. I am fucking moaning your name over and over; you have become my prayer. You smile, proud.

“You like that, hey?”

I barely nod before you slide up along my body, placing my long, lean legs on either side of your head. You kiss me like lovers who love… this alchemy of skin.

I am folded under you. Your weight stokes my fire and I hold your face, finally. I kiss you again. I look you in the eyes as the weight of each thrust and pound drives your point home:

“Cum, Lola! Cum for me.”

I can feel it like a distant wave, I can feel it cresting in a kind of mini-orgasm and I know if you stop, I’ll never find it again, and I’ll never cum like I know I can when I’m with you.

“Don’t stop. PLEASE. Don’t.stop.”

You’re surprised.

“Are you—?”

But I need you to keep pace with me,

“Yesyesooohyesdon’tstopdon’t stop!”

Our tempo changes, you shift us into a higher gear. Sweat runs down your back.

“Cum! Cum!”

I feel the surge deep between my legs, like electricity through my back. You feel so fucking amazing. All I can do is repeat over and over to the beat of each pump,

“I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so close—”

You’re just as inspired. Our passion has liberated you.

“For me! Cum for me!”

We are one breath, foreheads together, mouths mirroring the other. Moans cascade, tumbling out between gasps and cries that crest and crescendo. I can’t help it. I can’t stop it. I don’t want to.

“So close, so close, soo—”

You drill me so deep you can feel my stomach. I love. every. moment. You whip me into frenzy. My eyes widen, my jaw falls open, my fingers clench the cushions beneath us. You can see how close to the precipice I am.

“That’s it! CUM! Cum for me!”

Suddenly, I can feel it—I am going to spill and spill and spill all over you, all over this couch. The force of my cum begins to peak and you see my flicker of doubt. I know it’s going to be huge—

“Make a mess! I want it, all of it. I want you to—”

I want you to cum with me but I am dumb; there are no words left for me, only wave upon wave of surging, arching, squirting orgasm.

“YES! Give it to me, all over me, please, Lola, YES!”

I can’t hold it back, even if I wanted to. Our bodies convulse. I gush in all directions; my squirt is a tsunami of release. We cry out as your cum fills me and spills out along the crease of my thighs, down the crack of my ass.

We hold tightly to one another even as we’re lost in the other’s arms. We are a glorious mess. I can feel and smell you everywhere and in this moment, I can think of nothing better.

Slowly, we catch our breath. I unfold my legs. You pull me on top of you as we still the racing of our hearts. My head rests on your broad chest and I listen to your heartbeats slow to a steady pulse. As you trace a mindless pattern on my back, you quietly say,


I smile, lifting my head in response. My breath catches a little when I look at you. You are fully here with me, radiant and whole. Your freedom is infinite. My eyes tear up. I am smitten by the power of your masculine beauty. You move a strand of hair off my sweaty, rosy cheek. Tenderly, you place it behind my ear.

“You are so beautiful, Lola… Just, wow.”

This time, it’s me that blushes.

as i walked out one evening…

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
“Love has no ending.

“I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
Till China and Africa meet
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street.

“I’ll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

“The years shall run like rabbits
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages
And the first love of the world.”

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
“O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

“In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

“In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

“Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver’s brilliant bow.

“O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you’ve missed.

“The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

“Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer
And Jill goes down on her back.

“O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

“O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.”

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming
And the deep river ran on.

      — W.H. Auden —

forty one (or, of a certain age), part 1…

Tonite, I dress for you. I consider your eyes on me, what outline might please you. I don’t wear a bra. I want to feel the soft fabric brush my nipples. I want the sides of my cupable breasts to imprint. I want your cock to leap with delight seeing my silhouette moving amidst the crowd.

Like it has before… and will again.

I only wear these lacy, delicate panties so that you can peel them off me – with your fingers and eventually, your mouth. Mmmm, your mouth. I wonder if anyone else will be able to smell my wet that is already aching for you? I rub lotion into my tawny skin, down and all around the length of my long, lean limbs and strong legs; who knows where you will kiss and nibble on me? Everywhere, I hope.

And suckle, too – pausing to dance your tongue in the crooks and nooks of my arms and knees — on my achilles — then sucking my velvet skin into your warm mouth. I want you to hear my gasp as I cry out, buck and barely prevent myself from squirting the truth of these secret niches of my bod, hiding in plain view.

I consider putting my hair up so that you can see my nape and the soft part below and just behind my ears… where moans spill out of me and my knees buckle when you kiss me there. Instead, I dab a trace of perfume there, leaving my dark mane loose and wild, draping down my back and over my shoulders.

I want to make it easy for you to picture the future: my naked body with yours, my head falling back, turning to look at you, your grip enfolded in the bouquet of my sex-soaked tendrils as my smiling mouth drops open, groaning my pleasure and praise-moaning your name.

Until then, we will mingle. And sit or stand just a little bit too close but not so close that anyone would really notice. I want to feel the heat off your body, feel it sinking into mine, through our clothes and modesty and public joviality. I want to feel your eyes on me as I walk away, towards, around you. I want to know that you are picturing all my skin underneath, feeling the energy of my passion and the delicious foreplay that is this waiting game. I want to look up from another conversation and see you already seeing me; my smile an echo to your wink. To this busy room, we seem miles apart but  like spidersilk, our need is weaving us closer, taut with longing to be inside the other.

Eventually, the gravitational pull of our… affinity… overwhelms decency and pulls us out onto the street. We slowly walk arm in arm, talking about the party and people and places and things until there, in the  shadow of stars and deepening night, you kiss me. Finally. You feel my body once more where you most need it: against you. Our lips trace back and forth and slowly, we venture deeper into the other’s mouth, taking pleasure in the evening’s palate. I can feel how each kiss  invisibly swirls down to charm my soft-as-plush clit and swelling lips. As in echo, the urgency of our kisses increase until our breath, audible, also steams.

I pull away. I don’t look at you right away, I just trace your neck, chest, and stomach. You watch me, as you do— as I know you like to. I pull on your waistband. I slip my finger in just far enough for you to feel the contrast of your ravenous heat and the cool night, just deep enough to feel my finger tip graze and circle the edge of your gloriously hard cock. We exhale. Deeply, looking into one another. We can’t help but smile.

Fuck, I love your smile, especially when it’s at me and I am in your arms. I suddenly want to tell you that your every touch has been a bookmark to favourite passages. But I don’t. Neither of us seems to know language in this moment; it’s just bodies and breath wrapped inside a gnawing need to be free. To know permission and passion. I can only show you… soon. Soon, when we are finally and fully alone.

— to be continued —

out of the crowd…

Out of the rolling ocean, the crowd, came a drop gently to me,
Whispering, I love you; before long I die:
I have travelled a long way, merely to look on you, to touch you:
For I could not die till I once looked on you,
For I feared I might afterward lose you.

Now we have met, we have looked, we are safe;
Return in peace to the ocean, my love;
I too am part of that ocean, my love—we are not so much separated;
Behold the great rondure—the cohesion of all, how perfect!
But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,
As for an hour carrying us diverse—yet cannot carry us diverse for ever;
Be not impatient—a little space—know you, I salute the air, the ocean,
and the land,
Every day, at sundown, for your dear sake, my love.

Walt Whitman

a life in letters…

You are so dear, so wonderful. I think of you all day long, and miss your grace, your… beauty, the bright sword-play of your wit, the delicate fancy of your genius, so surprising always in its sudden swallow-flights towards north and south, towards sun and moon — and, above all, yourself.

— Oscar Wilde —

the light comes…


My story isn’t sweet and harmonious, like invented stories.
It tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream,
like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.

— Hermann Hesse —

just say it…

… your full, kissable mouth.
show me.
… your clever tongue.
squirm for me.
… your sweet, thick clit.
harder, deeper.
… your inner thighs of silk.
ravish me.
… your beautiful, beautiful cunt.
let me watch.
… your hungry eyes.
spread wider.
… your eager ass.
devour me.
… your gorgeous long hair
soak me.
… your pretty pussy.
fuck me into frenzy.

fuck, yes.
… yes.
cum with me
… yes.

… oh, moan.

our minor refusals…

A man looks deep into your eyes, practicing for the day he finally sees himself as fresh, so sweet. Your hair, your skin caught up in a man’s hands is the way he kneads Grace, Hope, and Faith into the marrow of his bones. His pre-cum glistens like the giving of his deepest heart; pristine. When your velvet, thrumming pussy clenches him tight, a man’s jaw tightens, and for that instance, he is undiminished – he is fearless.

Lola Moi

yes, we can talk…

Having loved enough and lost enough,
I am no longer searching,
just opening.

No longer trying to make sense of pain,
but trying to be a soft and sturdy home
in which real things can land.

These are the irritations that rub into a pearl

So we can talk awhile
but then we must listen,
the way rocks listen to the sea

And we can churn at all that goes wrong
but then we must lay all distractions down,
and water every living seed.

And yes, on nights like tonight
I too feel alone. But seldom do I
face it squarely enough
to see that it is a door
into the endless breath
that has no breather
into the surf that human shells
call god.

– Mark Nepo –


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