dilettante…

Dear Gentle Sir,

There is a man who believes I pine for him. This couldn’t be farther from the truth: this is one of many stories he tells himself to make himself feel better – his hollow attempt to right the wrongs he’s convinced himself are mine.

I am not thinking of what was never there with him when my tongue swirls around your balls, making them swing, inspiring delirious pleasure. I am too busy bucking up against you as you drill that beautiful, thick, pulsating cock into me.

I am relying on our moans and my taut nipples and your strong hands and our bodies – straining with pleasure –  to keep us here: now, right where we are, fucking and free.

Deeply Yours,

Lola xo

reap the whirlwind…

http://fleurdelunaa.tumblr.com/image/126904929463

Let us again pretend that life is a solid substance, shaped like a globe, which we turn about in our fingers. Let us pretend that we can make out a plain and logical story, so that when one matter is dispatched – love for instance – we go on, in an orderly manner, to the next.

— Virginia Woolf —

reap the whirlwind 2