We two, we two, we make our world, our pleasure.
― Ella Wheeler Wilcox —
offerings…
My Gentle Sir,
It is one of my greatest pleasures to spread my legs for you. To watch your face disappear behind my smooth mound sends shivers up and down my silky, inner thighs.
To spread my legs even wider as your thick, sweet shaft slips, plunges, and pulses deep between my folds is all I dream to feel.
To bend over for you, to lift my ass, to spread cheeks, and present my swollen, slick lips, while I look back at you (and straight into your gorgeous eyes) keeps me awake at night with longing.
And all these are offerings I don’t care to give another.
Reassuringly Yours,
Lola Moi xo
equinox, my love…
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.
The spirits of the air live in the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.
– William Blake, “To Autumn”
When I kiss, my lips are tender and nibble
and my breath sweet can be heard in
that autumn forest as a river runs
down your spine; you are a mouth that licks
the back of my hand nibbling on my fingers
while I find the crease of your vulva
and liberate the edges. You’re a lovely,
fertile reef where impossible swans
hold my cock within the fireworks
spoken as light storms remember
the reflected grace of your mouth
and eyes when we stare into that abyss
that never stops so wonderful sex
rides our back to an ancient sea
forgotten when the tide pools break.
– Letter from Sean Farragher to Anaïs Nin
in the shower…
Dear Gentle Sir,
When I am in the shower, and I am alone, that’s when I miss you the most.
I hear your delicious voice in my ear; soft, deep and gentle. The hot water traces me, rushing down along my creases, over my mounds and into my folds; I am warmed by this heat as it caresses me – not unlike the way my velvet walls caress your heat.
My long, dark hair plasters to my back, halfway down my spine, and as I tilt my head to let the water wash over me, it becomes a flush of pleasure – the same pleasure I feel when your tongue and mouth are on my neck, my breasts, my waist, and inner thighs… like so. My eyes close and I see you; your width, your strength, and the promise of your weight soon to be wrapped around me.
Dear God, you are so beautiful to see, my gentle lover, my sweet sir.
I lather the soap with my hands, watching the foam build in my palm, like you do when I touch you with these same hands. I feel the foam grow in my hand just like you do when you watch me, when I let myself spread and bend and curve, arch and buck for you. I am like silk. The soap covers me like breath and I moan softly, my throaty mew muffled by the steam.
These suds suspend time as they spill over all that I am: soft, round and smooth, lithe, narrow and strong, sweet and bold in this body of mine. I watch the white bubbles float and flow, mesmerized just like I am when I watch you drink me in, when you lap me up with your eyes, your hands, your mouth, your thighs and feet; it’s as though you are parched, and I am the only well that could possibly appease your insatiable thirst.
And I want you thirsty, I want you hungry I want you ripe with desire, without apology for needing all that I have to give you. Because even when you hold me with all your strength, when you grip and ply, push and pound me, your touch is gentle like all these bubbles and water… even when I am most dirty, with you, I feel clean.
When I rinse, I let the water take its time, I let the beads trickle and loiter because I know that’s how you prefer me: lingering in all this wet… my wet… for you.
Yours, In All Ways,
Lola Moi xo
i am undone…
Dear Gentle Sir,
The first time you kissed me
took me completely by surprise:
our wet
the texture of your tongue
the heat of my moan
I still wonder if I will ever recover
knowing full well
I don’t want to.
Deeply Yours,
Lola Moi xo