Posted on

holy fuck, yes…

Dear Gentle Sir,

There is a spot in my clit that, when pressed/squeezed/sucked, fills my entire body with delicious squirm. There is a spot along your jaw that has the same effect on me – mostly when you look me in the eyes and smile. And always when you moan. Always then.

There is spot in the crook of each elbow (cousin to the same spots behind my knees) that, when licked/suckled/nibbled, fills me wet and raw with hunger. There is a spot under the head of your cock that has the same effect on me – mostly when you groan and tremble uncontrollably with electric need. And always when you blush. Always then.

There is a spot between us that is silent, still. A space that awaits your touch – suspended time. A breath between us, sometimes translated into words we read. Other times, into the secret, soft crevices of the other’s ear. A pause that is the slick juice between my legs, the hardening of my nipples, the arch of my ass into the air, the sweet swelling of my lips, and the reaching of my heart’s skin to feel you inside me. Again.

And again.
Fuck, I need to feel you again.
To see your eyes full of need for me, and for you to see mine, too.

There is a spot inside you, inside me, that neither of us can deny. (As much as we have tried. And will likely try some more.) You: the calm before the storm. Me: the “yes” to your “no.” We trace these spots – so many spots – in our mind’s eye, each time we lick the tips of fingers that still shine with the slick secret of our honey cum.

To remember is to do.
To do is to create memories new.

“Tell me more. Show me.”

Please,

Lola Moi xo