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how hard is hard enough…

Dear Gentle Sir,

What is it like to see the look in my eyes change because of the pleasure you bring to my body? What is it to feel my wet heat seep between the fingers that are knuckle deep in my cunt? How do my warm folds snuggle up against your pumping cock? What part of your body clenches when my mouth drops open as so many moans for you tumble out?

I want to be your chest that heaves with urgency as you undress me. I want to be your eyes that watch our bodies become one and separate and become one over and over again. I want to be your nerves that tingle when my tongue traces around your ears and balls and inner thighs.

What is it that makes it so easy to say “no” to me? What is it that whispers in your reasoning mind when I admit how your skin makes mine heat and my clit ache? What compels you to turn away knowing how I gush and soak my panties every time I hear your voice?

I want to spread for you. I want to jiggle with abandon as we take turns riding riding riding. I want to make you dizzy with permission. I want your hand to be mine and feel it squeeze from the intense pleasure you give me. I want to watch your jaw set with determination as my cum draws near. I want our lips to almost touch as we make a delicious mess together.

What is it that makes you say “yes” to any part of me? What is it about me that charges your balls to swirl under your raging-hard cock? What is it that invites you to think about me even when you don’t mean to or want to or imagine you should? What is it that compels you to spread me wide with your imagination?

I want you. I want you to want me. I want to be you with me; to watch what I feel and experience that deepening of yourself inside you. I want to be your tongue that tastes my goodness and light and power and promise. I want my pleasure to drip into your mouth as it fuels your spirit. I want to look down or up or sideways or over my shoulder, seeing you there… with me.

Deeply Yours,

Lola xo

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a life in letters…

You are so dear, so wonderful. I think of you all day long, and miss your grace, your… beauty, the bright sword-play of your wit, the delicate fancy of your genius, so surprising always in its sudden swallow-flights towards north and south, towards sun and moon — and, above all, yourself.

— Oscar Wilde —

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hours continuing long…

Hours continuing long, sore and heavy-hearted,

Hours of the dusk, when I withdraw to a lonesome and un-frequented
spot, seating myself, leaning my face in my
hands;

Hours sleepless, deep in the night, when I go forth, speeding
swiftly the country roads, or through the city streets, or
pacing miles and miles, stifling plaintive cries;

Hours discouraged, distracted—for the one I cannot content
myself without, soon I saw him content himself without
me;

Hours when I am forgotten, (O weeks and months are pass-
ing, but I believe I am never to forget!)

Sullen and suffering hours! (I am ashamed—but it is useless
—I am what I am;)

Hours of my torment—I wonder if other men ever have the
like, out of the like feelings?

Is there even one other like me—distracted—his friend, his
lover, lost to him?

Is he too as I am now? Does he still rise in the morning, de-
jected, thinking who is lost to him? and at night, awak-
ing, think who is lost?

Does he too harbor his friendship silent and endless? harbor
his anguish and passion?

Does some stray reminder, or the casual mention of a name,
bring the fit back upon him, taciturn and deprest?

Does he see himself reflected in me? In these hours, does he
see the face of his hours reflected?

— Walt Whitman —

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to be dissolved…

Dear Gentle Sir,

I wonder what you would do if I were there now, with you? Would you want me? Would you trace the edge of each shiver you give me? Would you tease me with your hand or your tongue? How would you coax the first moan out of me… and then the third, the 17th, the 27th?

As I slip back into bed, I wonder these things. I wonder what it would take to make you hard? I slip out of my tank and lay on my tummy. I feel my breasts bulge against my weight, pressed hot atop my flannel sheets. I want you to see me. I want you to watch me lift my hips so I can slip out of my lace thong panties. I want you to finish the task when they get caught around my knees. Then, I want your gentle caress along my long legs so that I feel your firm desire. I want you to smell how wet you make me. I want you to lick your lips as you bend your knees, hold my hips, and spread me with your thumbs.

This pause we both take is its own kind of truth.

You underestimate the power you have, the lover you are. You hide such incredible fire inside; each spark of inspiration makes me moan and ache for you when you are gone. I am nothing special but with you, I become extraordinary. With me, you must explore… there are no limits. With me, you have a kind of permission that scares you; I know this, you know this. It frightens me, too, at times until I see you again – ablaze in all your glory – and I am reminded: holy fuck, are you ever beautiful.

Ah! And there it is: my first moan.

 

Not-So-Secretly Yours,

Lola xo