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not a dream, a memory…

Dear Gentle Sir,

We met again in my dream last night. (It’s been some time.) Pressed tightly together, wrapped safely in your arms, we kissed. Your lips and tongue caressed mine with a passion so sweet I wanted to cry.

I realized long after waking, while walking with tender thots of you, that our dream-kiss was an echo, a memory of where we once were together: a first time of a certain kind that awakened a hunger in me I have yet to satisfy.

Beautiful man, sweetest of lovers, you make me sigh.

Dreaming Awake,

Lola xo

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when dreams feel like real life…

Dear Gentle Sir,

Must I remind you?

When you hold me, firmly, losing yourself inside the flavours I am.
Your voice, especially when pleasure overtakes you.
Your hands gently, almost secretly, caressing mine.
The growing bob of your eager cock, and the way you watch me enjoying you.
The shiver you make when my tongue and lips read between the lines.
The surprise on your face when I blush from your masculine beauty.

The moan I am when I am with you.
The fucking moan I cannot keep inside.

Achingly Yours,

Lola xo

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an unquiet one…

an unquiet one

Being adored… and feeling it.

Being wanted… and seeing it.

(It is possible… here in this moment, now.)

Being desired… and knowing it.

 

This is the pleasure beyond lust.
This is the hope beyond what has passed.
This is the glow in my eyes when I look at you.

Yes, at you.