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this wind may blow the sun in…

Dear Gentle Sir,

There is the feeling when your cock falls into the back of my throat… when it pushes its way to the very most brink of my breath.

There is the feeling as the tears well up in my eyes… when you look back at me – no, into me – and we smile.

There is the feeling of pussy petals sighing, singing, spreading to make room for you… when my hard nipples make a different kind of mark than my scratches on your back and my heated bites on your shoulder.

There is the feeling of being held under sunsets that smell like summer fires… when you kiss my forehead and in braille, your lips write “I love you.”

Sweetly Yours,

Lola Moi xo

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when we said yes (or, roads taken)…

road(s) takenAfterwards.

We lay like that for a time. It should have been awkward but each breath was… simple. Quiet. And this stillness brought with it a calm, a terrifying calm. Each freckle, each edge of stubble, each bead of sweat still shining on his forehead was a beacon to something I’d never seen before – a storm inside me I’d left for others to read about in some story, long ago left dusty on a shelf. But here, now: each breath softened hard edges, drawing us closer, revealing a fit I never knew possible.