things i never forget…

The way your eyes pierce and your jaw sets when you see my naked. A deep thrust followed by your deep kiss. The moan you make as you lean back to watch. Your slow slide inside.things i never forget The smile you make as you blush.
The way you kiss me and kiss me and kiss me as your hands please me. Your body, hot and slick, eagerly pressing into me and mine. Watching my bold, taut nipple disappear into your mouth. The perfection of our reflection in the mirror. Your urgency to feel more – torn between watching and tasting more of me. The pitch of your cum-moan as it drifts off into the night.

 

When you say, “Once more.” and “Again?”

every time i’m with you…

When you talk, I must focus on the shape of your words because your voice is already sucking on the softest part above my collarbone, between my neck and my shoulder (and I hope it leaves a mark). And when you smile? Oh, fuck: my cunt is instantly whetted with you-shaped need. When you pause to consider your next thot, I can’t even look at your lips or jaw without fear of giving away the throb that overwhelms my clit; I look away as I cross my long legs and squeeze my anklevery time i'm with youes instead. When our eyes do meet, I am done: I’m already fingering myself on my knees, watching you free your beautiful cock, my jaws slack with wonder. When you assert your heart’s truth, I cross my arms, I fidget, I make… tea, yes, tea… so that I won’t caress and kiss your face and turning, wait for you to pull my panties down so I can bend over — my smooth aroma coaxing out the sweetest of your delicious moans. When you gesture the way you do, I distract us with teasing and talk about others so that I won’t press my slim, naked secrets up against you, so that you won’t notice how my breath still catches every time I see you.

Full of wanting is my cum.
Inside me, your fullness.

its own kind of freedom…

I wrote love notes of various kinds… here and there… hoping I really was seen, feeling against thinking that perhaps finally, my trust was worth giving. I thot: this is what all those story books and fairytales were trying to describe. Swept off my feet, I fell.

Too late I realized I was wrong: when you looked at me, it was not a promise, it was not a meeting of well-mets; it was a warning.

… so many love notes.

Human hearts are fragile, made particularly malleable thanks to the mind-bending heat of misguided belief. Pain births deeper understanding as it sinks into scars you believed to be healed (or, at least, healing). Blame, lies, disrespect, and silence disappears love. We become rank with longing for something that never really was.

This is the struggle to Living.
This is why we pray for blindness.
Loving the Wrong One illuminates if our soul stays open.
I see you even more clearly now but more: I see me.