A soft kiss placed in the right spot while wrapped gently but firmly in your arms… it is the gateway to all my pleasures. Your gentle touch is the inspiration of my depths. To be treated as precious inside your passion is the bloom of my ache. The everyday of our connection is more; it becomes the wild secrets that explode between us in the middle of the night—that keep us up into the wee hours when we are apart. Never underestimate what moves me to say “yes” to even the unspoken wishes you hoard; it is you and always will be.
whispers on our lips…
She was fascinated with words. To her, words were things of beauty, each like a magical powder or potion that could be
combined with other words to create powerful spells.
— Dean Koontz —
touch has a memory…
at break of day…
like dominoes…
(not so) easy to forget…
Dear Gentle Sir,
The first time I saw you naked, I wanted to climb you with a compulsion monkeys must have when they see a tall, glorious tree. I wanted to taste you in mango-sweet ways as one must suck and lick and test and devour divine succulence.
The first time I touched your barest of skin, I gasped.
I hope you always remember this fact.
The first time I saw you naked, I was already wet; every fold between my legs had been begging me to spread – they wanted you to hear how lovely your name sounds springing forth from inside me. I was already saying “yes” to every dream you had.
The first time you touched me, I lost my breath.
I hope you never forget this fact.
Yours from the Beginning,
Lola Moi xo
where the wild things are…
Where do we come from?
What are we?
Where are we going?
an unquiet one…
Being adored… and feeling it.
Being wanted… and seeing it.
(It is possible… here in this moment, now.)
Being desired… and knowing it.
This is the pleasure beyond lust.
This is the hope beyond what has passed.
This is the glow in my eyes when I look at you.
Yes, at you.
left to my own devices…
and all I can think about is you.
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