Understanding is a lot like sex; it’s got a practical purpose,
but that’s not why people do it normally.
– Frank Oppenheimer –
Secret Thots for a Very Private Gentleman
tales, temptation, and titillation…
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