Posted on

the dream…

Dear, though the night is gone,
Its dream still haunts today,
That brought us to a room
Cavernous, lofty as
A railway terminus,
And crowded in that gloom
Were beds, and we in one
In a far corner lay:

Our whisper woke no clocks,
We kissed and I was glad
At everything you did,
Indifferent to those
Who sat with hostile eyes
In pairs on every bed,
Arms round each others necks
Inert and vaguely sad.

What hidden worm of guilt
Or what malignant doubt
Am I the victim of,
That you then, unabashed,
Did what I never wished,
Confessed another love;
And I, submissive, felt
Unwanted and went out.

 

 — W.H. Auden —
Posted on

not the first…

Dear Gentle Sir,

I loved a man who was afraid of the Possible – the enormity of it. With me, he began to experience himself in his truest dimensions, that is, until he couldn’t bear it. So, he blamed me for his growing fear. He became afraid of me, not realizing it had nothing to do with me; I simply showed up and held up a mirror. He looked. He saw. He chose another – as is his wont. He prefers that which keeps him, contains him, controls him.

But even now, it is still in him – all that is Possible.
And it still has nothing to do with me.

These days, he tells himself things are great, that he is in a better place than ever before but he’s a step beside where he was before me: he is still small; he remains secretly, deeply afraid of the enormity of himself, of his own Light. He is happiest when he can hide.

Where once there was love, there now lives insight and a kind of wounded wisdom. Every time I kiss you, I wonder if you will (again), like him, take your turn and blame me for your fear? Or will you focus on my nipples, my glowing clit, and hot moans… hoping to drown out the terrifying call of what is Possible within you? Of the choices you are too afraid to make?

Truth is, it won’t be the first time.
I imagine you won’t try to be the last.
If I’m still here, that is.

Thoughtfully Yours,

Lola xo

Posted on

there’s no shortcut…

Many people have come and left, and it has been always good
because they emptied some space for better people.
It is a strange experience, that those who have left me
have always left places for a better quality of people.

— Osho —

Posted on

tiny, beautiful things…

I take my time undressing you. I know your eyes are on me – intent and trusting – and I resist the urge to fall into your gaze. I want to enjoy this first. I want to drink you in with my fingers. I want you to feel me devour you with my eyes. I need you to feel the tender adoration of my touch. I want us to taste the promises floating in the air.

My bold nipples brush up against the goosebumps of your cooling flesh. This whisper between us compels me to look into your eyes and softly say, “Hi.” The sound of my voice triggers ripples of pleasure down your spine, ending at the head of your cock – minor explosions foreshadowing… everything.

It’s a strange feeling, this next moment: knowing exactly what I want and having no idea what to do to get it. And so we stand before one another. So very naked. So very still. Seeing and being seen. The miniscule space between us defying physics with all that fills it. This tension is delicious. I ache with it all, too.

A new dance begins: our gazes part and return as our hands slowly trace the other’s outline – suspended in the spirit more than on our actual skin. Even though your hands don’t actually touch me, I am moved. Deeply. I feel myself warm as your hands float over and around me. The back of my hands, my palms and wrists are mirror to yours – only mine are dancing in their own tempo, swooping and divining where you most need me – those places you secretly fear I may find.

Finally, our fingers entwine and pulling me to you, your head tilts, your lips part and you kiss me. What early pause and restraint there may have been is no more. This kiss is a game-changer. This kiss removes the blinders.

You pull me in by my lower lip and then my upper. I hungrily taste your tongue and suckle you deep in my mouth. Back and forth, sweeping and searching, we are nothing short of enthusiastic. Of course, our hands now find their way around the other. You pull me so close, it’s like you’re already filling me. You feel the urgency of my own grip – against your broad back, and as your ass cheeks spread that little bit when I grasp them to draw your body even closer.

You pull away suddenly, your eyes wide, looking into me. “I can smell you!” I laugh with delight and blush. My voice husky replies, “But can you taste me?” It’s like a rubber band snaps: you scoop me up – I am light as a feather – the certainty of your desire empowers you (and fuck, are you ever glorious, my sweet).

Somehow your tongue and your fingers manage to stop Time. I know this is a bed. I know that is the ceiling above us.  But why does it feel like we are more than just a man and a woman, gasping and grasping the Mystery of (our) Pleasure?

I want to ask you this, I want to hear your sexy mind at work. But all I can do is splay my legs and grip your hair with reaching fingers. All I can do is moan and arch my back with toes spread and curled. All I can do is pant with an open mouth. I cannot speak your name even though it is the only word occupying my simple brain. All I can do is return to your eyes and then find myself transported once more.

When you finally do enter me, when your beautiful cock pumps forth my honey-wet, I am all yours. There is no one else. My hair is drenched from our exertion, your jaw clenches with the powerful clarity of our mutual need. You are so beautiful in this moment. My heart opens and in this, you choose to mirror me. My eyes tear up from the beauty of what I thought could never be.

You understand this – it spurs you on, and inspires a verve in you that I haven’t seen before. I have never felt so free. The power of your thrusts echo through our bones. The depths of my pussy’s walls begin to pulse, gripping the growing thickness you are inside me. Our silence is a thing of the past.

Our cries are feral. Honest. Pure.
This is the light that cleanses, that heals.
This, my sweet love is you and me,
Together.