somewhere behind the morning…

Dear Gentle Sir,

If ever I have felt your mouth on me, it is because your tongue is a wand and my moans, my squirms, my arching spine, and spreading legs are the magic we make.

If I have ever felt your hands wrapped around me, it is because I am waiting for you to trace my curves and folds and slippery creases. It is because I want to feel your hands to spread me and juice me, as your fingers wander and whip me into the frenzy of delight I can be. I ache to feel your strong hands grip me with need and unstoppable desire.

If ever I have felt your cock slipping, inching, sliding, pounding, dancing, and filling me it is because you are beautiful and I am the mirror I want you to see.  There you are – sexy, sweet, strong, and wondrous in your passion… even in your doubt, you are powerful.

Why else would I offer myself? Why else would I splay myself for you and your pleasure. Why else would I hold you in my arms and kiss you sweet? Why else would I try and try and try… until I have no words. Was it not you who titillated my mind and made my body tremble and arch and ache and drip and throb with impossible heat?

If ever you think of me, remember the gift you are. You still fill me like no other.

Squirmingly Yours,

Lola Moi xo

my body is a cage…

My skin is soft but what part of me isn’t (besides the scars, I mean)?  My skin, a kind of map, a version of me you choose to trace and buy into. At least for a time. I imagine your fingers trace me because, like me, they are curious about the route we are on and like me, wonder what sights we will see along the way.

We seek direction even when we say we prefer to be lost.

My body secretly warms to your touch; we pretend there is nowhere else you’d rather be. And when we smile, it is not because anything has settled, it is simpler than all that; it is because something grows – and the mystery of our meeting, and sharing, and fatally flawed offerings fill us to spite our tenderest selves.

Yet, in the abundance of hope, in the sanctuary of faith, I speak words full of sacred. I speak the fullness of myself. I utter shape that carves the path leading straight to my heart.

And we dance.
And we dance.
And we dance.

The word comes from the body. When you speak, breath reunites thought with flesh. And with that comes a whole new awareness of what might be true. Or not.

Or not.

Lola Moi –

la vie en rose…

You think I don’t know
when you ask me to roll over
lift spread fold my legs
and shift my moans to the side
that you are finding the fit
you have with her
with me.

You think I don’t cum
thinking about her sweet, tight cunt
engorged with your thick, eager cock
as you lift spread fold her legs
shift her to the side
and overoverover fill her
with your love.

– Lola Moi –