My story isn’t sweet and harmonious, like invented stories.
It tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream,
like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.— Hermann Hesse —
the heat is on…
The fireplace crackles.
My cheeks are rosy-red warm.
I’ve already cum once tonite.
What do you have to say for yourself?
a guide to being born…
though a million miles away…
L
the sun touches our very skin.
instant wet…
The thrum that is my wet
has taken my breath again.
(holy fuck)
Thanks to you.
tunnel vision…
The problem with looking for images for this blog is that on days like today, I simply cannot choose; you are everywhere. You are in me, on me, behind me. We are wrapped, splayed, spread. I am reaching, pumping, dripping. Together: under, beside, on top. And again: licking, moaning, squirting.
Lover, you are everywhere.
Each image, every video reminds me of what we’ve already done or fuels hope for what might yet be. And I am whipped into horny wet… here, where I sit. I soak my panties thinking about you. I rush home, I climb into bed, into the tub – anywhere I can be wet wet wet. And all I want is to cum with you – for you… and you, for me.
And you have no idea, my Sweet how sexy you truly are.
Truth is, these days are many – so fucking many days like today – when you are all my skin can think about. When I am overwhelmed with wanting you. When I know how well-met we are in that secret place the other needs.
For how complex things are, this is simple: I want you. And I know: you want me. Fuck, I want you more than I know how to say. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Just, fuck.
not pretty but true…
Dear Gentle Sir,
I want to be the reason your breath catches and you wonder where to start.
I want to be the reason your lips part.
I want to be the reason your cock swells from there to here.
I want to be the reason you do not fear.
I want to be the reason when you’re so hard, you have nothing more to say.
I want to be the reason you moan in the middle of the day.
I want to be the reason you rip your clothes off, leaving them in a pile.
I want to be the reason when you smile.
I want to be the reason your toes curl and heels dig into the foot of the bed.
I want to be the reason why you grip an edge and in amazement shake your head.
I want to be the reason your tongue and tips slide along my silken leg.
I want to be the reason when you reach for me and beg.
I want to be the reason why you say “no” to her/ them/ it and “yes” to me.
I want to be the reason, you see.
Smoothly Yours,
Lola Moi xo
let’s meet in the unexpected…
A lot of people refuse to do things because they don’t want to go naked,
don’t want to go without guarantee.
But that’s what’s got to happen. You go naked until you die.
don’t want to go without guarantee.
But that’s what’s got to happen. You go naked until you die.
– Nikki Giovanni –
in the light of thy countenance…
Love is not something we give or get; it is something that we nurture and grow, a connection that can only be cultivated between two people when it exists within each one of them – we can only love others as much as we love ourselves.
– Brené Brown –
antiphony (or, let the tide be)…
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