not pretty but true…

Dear Gentle Sir,

I want to be the reason your breath catches and you wonder where to start.
I want to be the reason your lips part.

I want to be the reason your cock swells from there to here.
I want to be the reason you do not fear.

I want to be the reason when you’re so hard, you have nothing more to say.
I want to be the reason you moan in the middle of the day.

I want to be the reason you rip your clothes off, leaving them in a pile.
I want to be the reason when you smile.

I want to be the reason your toes curl and heels dig into the foot of the bed.
I want to be the reason why you grip an edge and in amazement shake your head.

I want to be the reason your tongue and tips slide along my silken leg.
I want to be the reason when you reach for me and beg.

I want to be the reason why you say “no” to her/ them/ it and “yes” to me.
I want to be the reason, you see.

Smoothly Yours,

Lola Moi xo

when we said yes (or, roads taken)…

road(s) takenAfterwards.

We lay like that for a time. It should have been awkward but each breath was… simple. Quiet. And this stillness brought with it a calm, a terrifying calm. Each freckle, each edge of stubble, each bead of sweat still shining on his forehead was a beacon to something I’d never seen before – a storm inside me I’d left for others to read about in some story, long ago left dusty on a shelf. But here, now: each breath softened hard edges, drawing us closer, revealing a fit I never knew possible.

fuck…

Dear Gentle Sir,

When you fuck me, don’t say we’re making love.

Just ride me. Let me ride you, my dark mane gone wild. Slip your need deep into the velvet caress of my throat. Mould my tits to your strong hands. Squeeze. Ply me open with your tongue. Sweat with me. Thrash your head side to side, try not to grip the pillows. Try not to get lost. Try not to want more. Try, with each groaning gasp to tell yourself this fuck is not who you are. Let all those fingers slip inside and pound my tender cum-spot. Make me ripe. This wet splashing over eyes closed, arched spines, clenched toes. A cock alive, dancing for more. Pumping. Pounding. Pulsating. All into me. Turning us each inside outside the other.

This is not love. This is more. And nothing like before.

Fuck,

Lola Moi xo

the auberge at bay…

You walk ahead of me in the hallway
look over your shoulder and
reach for me
with your left hand.

I have to skip to catch up
to your long legs.

Your reach is unexpected
and the way your eyes find me
in the moment before
I take your hand
my heart skips a beat
too.

For some reason
these tiny moments
the way you ask for me
and the way
you hold me as we walk
(if I may be so bold)
delight
and soothe me
reassure me
even satiate me
in the way that one
discovers themselves content
with exactly the right dessert.

All this in spite of
the pull
and ease
of my acceptance
all this despite
one simple truth:

I don’t want you to leave
your absence is
it is
the very last thing
I want.

You enter the elevator
gorgeous broad back to me
I whisper
your name
I tuck you into my secrets
as I wish
and want you
to reach for me again
and take me
guide me
on our way to bed
naked
safe
ready.

As the doors of the elevator pause
I reach for you
inside myself
I want to drink deeply
and allow the hunger
to be seen
I want your nose against
my skin
but not like that time before.

This time will be different.

Because with me
you can be most like yourself
it is my gift to you
no hiding
apologies unnecessary
even forbidden
as you remember
the heat you are
you will forget
how or why you ever said “no.”
You will hear your power
harmonize and crescendo
with mine
my moans
and cries.
You will delight like I do in
our sweet – nest
you will believe
you will reach
and embrace the beauty
that you are
that I already see in you.

For the briefest of moments
you will understand why
I can’t resist you.

And we will kiss.

Even as your back turns
even as the doors
seal away your smile
for who knows how long
(time and space have now
turned against me)
I stand there
breathless
already missing you.

And all you did
was reach for me
in the way you do
but it seems
that was enough
to find me.

– Lola Moi –

all i hold…

I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me, and my inquiry is as to their working, and my problem is their subjugation and victory, downthrow and upheaval, and my effort is their self expression.

– Dylan Thomas –

cumming into your own…

… our battle cry for authenticity and the ideas it creates about who we are can sometimes serve to guard us against vulnerability. These places we call “in-authenticity” may just be the edges, or the uncharted territories, of who we consider ourselves to be. Consciously going to the edges of what we feel is “authentic” may actually be an opening to increased possibilities…

– necessary shenanigans, “the practice of play” –

cumming into your own