Secret Thots for a Very Private Gentleman
tales, temptation, and titillation…
Once, I grew moody and distant.
I told my life I would like some time,
I would like to try seeing others.
In a week, my empty suitcase and I returned.
I was hungry, then, and my life,
my life, too, was hungry, we could not keep
our hands off our clothes on
our tongues from
You place me at the perfect height: our eyes peer directly into the other’s. your hips gently push my legs apart as you move in to kiss me. And like today’s welcome rain, the tenderness of your lips refreshes me like each drop of cleansing, wet air. We pause to simply drink one another in. Your gaze incites release. I feel my heart sob with joy.
I trace your sweet face and with each adoring sweep, I hold you so that I might give you the gift that lesser men have quailed from: I see you with open eyes. I accept your imperfect, scared smallest self. I smile, willing a courage I barely recognize myself. My fingertips imprint light into every crack they find. I trust, and in this, I offer you the best of myself.
You can feel pressure inside your chest building; it builds inside the history of your borders and boundaries, inside what others have forbidden and allowed, inside the dam that barely holds your fear at bay. You feel lost inside all this… space. Permission. You look down, away from me.
“It… feels… too much,” you say.
“To be found?” I ask.
Startled, you meet my eyes. And suddenly kiss me again. This time, on my temples, my brow, my high cheekbones, my sweet dimples, and full lips. Your hands hold me as your body urgently speaks words you’re not yet brave enough to say.
Your fingers deftly – tenderly – slide from my knee, up my velvety inner thigh and lighty… so so lightly, your fingers move up and down, inching closer to the wet that swells my pussy. Reaching the velvety corner deep between my legs, between my thighs and mound, you look at me again, intent. You watch my expression as your fingers slowly so slowly flip and dance, back and forth – this time moving closer to my swollen, pulsing lips.
The fever has pitched. My petal-soft folds moan their pleasure through my throat. It comes out a gasping breath, a call and response led by my voice saying your name. My panties now to the side, I lean back with my long legs spread and I hook my calves and feet around you.
This time our shared gaze smolders. This time, when you put your fingers in my mouth, one-by-one, your jaw drops a little with anticipation. My looking at you is unadorned. I want you inside me so fucking much. I am hunger and need and promise personified. I am yours. We are your bidding…
Dear Gentle Sir,
Yes, I arched my body towards you; I was compelled. Utterly. Your soft, intense gaze sucked me in, much like your mouth did, and both inspired the most delicious moans. Even now, you turn me on like no other and I still want to be with you, especially like that: open, hungry, seen… gloriously wet.
I want you to remember how you make me feel. For those times when you are alone with thots of me, I want you to grip the shaft of your beautiful cock that once housed itself in my mouth (and between the soft petaled edges of my warm pussy). I want you to see my looking deep into the You of you and feel the muse once more. As you pump on your knees, I want our fuck-cries to haunt your cum.
I want your remembering to be a knowing – a certainty of what Pleasure we are together. No doubts, no second-guessing, no faint-hope clause every time you see my name or embrace me. Because again, I am wet. Here and now. For all of you.
As I Must,
Lola xo
I could watch her the rest of my life.
— Philip K. Dick —
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.
… inside and out.
People grow when they are loved well.
If you want to help others heal,
love them without an agenda.
—Mike McHargue —
