Tag Archives: cock-love

when time is spent…

Once, I met a man and I very nearly came the first time he entered me. I rode this man but I didn’t love him; I loved how his cock made me feel. He filled me beyond anything I’d ever known before.

A bird sits on my windowsill.
It fluffs its feathers and waits for others to arrive.
It doesn’t look up at the sun.
It sees me through my window and it simply serenades.

Many times, I made a man I (once) loved cum. I looked into his eyes as we filled one another; I looked because I saw him for who he was and still found joy. His lies filled me beyond anything I’d ever known before.

Sometimes we sleepwalk
Daylight fluffs its nighttime wings and whispers.
Someone traces secrets in the air that we cannot quite hear.
We blind ourselves – as one with the deaf and dumb.

I cry your name in deepest pleasure. I pull you close and feel impossibly new.  The breath I once thought my own, rides the wind over water, through trees of cedar, under bark. I sit and see truth.

In life we are undone.
In waking-dreams we are made new.
With the right person, healing happens
But first, we must awaken.

 

to be the candle or the mirror…

to be the candle or the mirror
People grow when they are loved well.
If you want to help others heal,
love them without an agenda.

—Mike McHargue —

to be the candle or the mirror 1

holy fuck, yes…

Dear Gentle Sir,

There is a spot in my clit that, when pressed/squeezed/sucked, fills my entire body with delicious squirm. There is a spot along your jaw that has the same effect on me – mostly when you look me in the eyes and smile. And always when you moan. Always then.

There is spot in the crook of each elbow (cousin to the same spots behind my knees) that, when licked/suckled/nibbled, fills me wet and raw with hunger. There is a spot under the head of your cock that has the same effect on me – mostly when you groan and tremble uncontrollably with electric need. And always when you blush. Always then.

There is a spot between us that is silent, still. A space that awaits your touch – suspended time. A breath between us, sometimes translated into words we read. Other times, into the secret, soft crevices of the other’s ear. A pause that is the slick juice between my legs, the hardening of my nipples, the arch of my ass into the air, the sweet swelling of my lips, and the reaching of my heart’s skin to feel you inside me. Again.

And again.
Fuck, I need to feel you again.
To see your eyes full of need for me, and for you to see mine, too.

There is a spot inside you, inside me, that neither of us can deny. (As much as we have tried. And will likely try some more.) You: the calm before the storm. Me: the “yes” to your “no.” We trace these spots – so many spots – in our mind’s eye, each time we lick the tips of fingers that still shine with the slick secret of our honey cum.

To remember is to do.
To do is to create memories new.

“Tell me more. Show me.”

Please,

Lola Moi xo

a night that is a day…

I spread myself.

Give me your weight.

My arms wrap around and mark the width you are on top. My hips buck up and pause so that your heat sinks deeper.

Yes. There, there. Oh, God, yes.

My hands reach around you, up and down, I caress the waves of each pump, gripping you with each crest our moans make. I bite your lip, your shoulder – it’s all I can think to do.

We are fucking, oh fuck.

All I want to do is be filled by you. I want to taste your need. Pound me right to my core with your desire; make my cunt throb with subtle ache for days.

We dance love when it is not… and so much more.

In the silence we create as you look into my eyes, I see what I don’t understand. I feel your hand – gentle, firm – around my neck, and I squirm for a kiss.

Again. Please, again. Oh my fuck, don’t stop now.

There is no denial. There is only time – the time we take to swallow, submerge, and satiate the other. Your cock bobs and weaves its way. My mouth opens, as it must.

Fuck. Your mouth… fuck me, I love your mouth.

There is no end, only what begins anew.

to make them blush…

to make him blush

The words that make the rose bloom were also said to me.
The words told to the cypress to make it grow strong and straight,
The instructions whispered to the jasmine,
And whatever was said to the sugarcane to make it sweet,
And to the pomegranate flowers to make them blush,
The same thing is being said to me.

– Anne Lamott –

rose bloom

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox

Join other followers:

%d bloggers like this: