thinkin’ about…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Will you do something? Just this one thing… for me?
When next you dress, go commando. Let your balls swing along the crease of your jeans or whatever you’ve slipped your long legs into. Let your cock push up against what it must. And then, as you travel through your day discover exactly how many times, places, ways I could just simply unzip you and suck.
Or maybe we simply unzip and… uh huh, just fuck.
As you go through your day, mark how easy it is for me to dip in and grope, cradle, trace… with hand, tongue, breath. Note how the simple act of me dropping to my knees and opening my mouth makes your mind drift, dream, and beg for me to stay there, on my knees, for however long you want me.
I think you’ll be surprised to learn how many moments there are in your day for me. You might even be amazed to find that you want me there; perhaps you will find yourself pleased to see that I’ve arrived and am at your service.
You may even find pre-cum has coated the inner cotton of your pants. This, from just thinking about me… arriving. Don’t be surprised by what is conjured by the power of your swinging balls and your amazing soft-to-thick-to soft-to-thick pole.
Whatever happens, keep track, note the thrum I am in each corner of your day; in fact, mark us in each corner, in all the stairwells, the backyards and seats, the countertops, elevators, and maybe even a bed. Update me as the day goes on, whatever. But I wanna know.
Getting juicy just thinkin’ about it.
Getting hot just thinkin’ about what’s in your pants.
Getting hoarse from horny thinkin’ about… you.
And yeah, I said it.
So, what are you gonna do about it?
Impatiently Yours,
Lola Moi xo
et tu, brute?
après work…
sharp dressed man…
Silk suit, black tie
And I don’t even need a reason why
They come runnin’ just as fast as they can
Cuz every girl’s crazy about a sharp dressed man…
dirty girl…
just the beginning…
i bite my lip…
Your jaw aches when I touch myself. I pleasure myself until you moan… until you look me in the eye and groan your need. You bite your lip to stop yourself from begging… for a taste. Again and again I rub, squeeze, trace, pinch, dip and slide. You spread my legs, prop them up against your thick chest and broad shoulders; your licks and kisses trace along my leg, you suck my toes.
My gasps are echoes to my back arching, my hips swaying and lifting with each husky gasp and sweet sigh you make. My fingers dance and dip along my lips as they puff and fill with heat. You smell my wet, you hear it and you whimper. Your hand beats in time to mine, your cock now dancing to our shared rhythm.
Fuck, I want you. I am starving for you.
I want to taste you so badly, my jaw aches.
I bite my lip to stop myself from begging… for you to taste me.
– Lola Moi –
her way…
Had she her way,
she would lick the lengths of love with ardent suck.
She would lie, silken breasts spilling to the side
reaching back
and pull him down on her
Hard.
Arching, lifting her ass so he could spread her fuck-hungry folds with heated, throbbing shaft.
She would let him pound her.
Each cry a soft, urgent
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
This she would do (and more), only if she had her way.
– Lola Moi –
a fervor parches you sometimes…
A fervor parches you sometimes,
And you hunch over it, silent,
Cruel, and timid; and sometimes
You are frightened with wantonness,
And give me your desperation.
Mostly we lurk in our coverts,
Protecting our spleens, pretending
That our bandages are our wounds.
But sometimes the wheel of change stops;
Illusion vanishes in peace;
And suddenly pride lights your flesh –
Lucid as diamond, wise as pearl –
And your face, remote, absolute,
Perfect and final like a beast’s.
It is wonderful to watch you,
A living woman in a room
Full of frantic, sterile people,
And think of your arching buttocks
Under your velvet evening dress,
And the beautiful fire spreading
From your sex, burning flesh and bone,
The unbelievably complex
Tissues of you brain all alive
Under your coiling, splendid hair.
I like to think of you naked.
I put your naked body
Between myself alone and death.
If I go into my brain
And set fire to you sweet nipples,
To the tendons beneath your knees,
I can see far before me.
It is empty there where I look,
But at least it is lighted.
I know how your shoulders glisten,
How your face sinks into trance,
And your eyes like a sleepwalker’s,
And your lips of a woman
Cruel to herself.
I like to
Think of you clothed, your body
Shut to the world and self-contained,
Its wonderful arrogance
That makes all women envy you.
I can remember every dress,
Each more proud than a naked nun.
When I go to sleep my eyes
Close in a mesh of memory.
Its cloud of intimate odor
Dreams instead of myself.
– Kenneth Rexroth –
