You have such a pretty mouth.
To feed it only kisses
would be a wasted opportunity.
— Michael Faudet —
Secret Thots for a Very Private Gentleman
tales, temptation, and titillation…
You have such a pretty mouth.
To feed it only kisses
would be a wasted opportunity.
— Michael Faudet —
Dear Sir,
There are things that other people see of me and there are things I’ve only allowed you to see. On your own, you have fought through the dense jungles of my ancient fears and scaled the slippery crevices of my shy and neglected minstrel heart. My mind, you have undressed with the simple act of waiting for me to speak; each pause with you has been a crystal drop of clean water. Despite my seemingly brazen ways, my bold curiosities, and aching candor, I have danced quietly in the corner – waiting for you to see me. And accept.
For you to open your mouth and fit me inside… this is not a simple act. It is revolution. Each time your tongue has warmed me has been a cautious step towards trust. I would never have thot you might be the vessel holding me with gentle, parted lips sucking me dry of worry. Your eyes. Each look between us is ache and inside your mouth I sing – with finger tips, toes that are too long, soft nipples buoyantly hard.
Wrapped inside your tongue I moan secrets only you will hear. My clit harmonizes with your suckles and dips and swirls. My hands in your hair, digging into your shoulders– back, pulling you close to keep our melody strong.
Sliding along your warm teeth I trace the sharp edges that might one day soften into a kindred kind of adoration some might even call love. Each smile, a gift of friendship. (All of it a version we might call our own, anyway.) Each nibble along the length and curves and folds of my secret-self is a gift I have given… and you, with your sweet mouth, a door left open. If only I could stay.
Smittenly Yours,
Lola Moi xo
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
– Wendell Berry –