• O for orgasm (or nearly)

    by  • February 1, 2015 • Addiction • 0 Comments

    Dear O

    I feel that your eyes talk to me, say millions of little inaudible, secret phrases. I think we’re speaking the same mute dialogues.

    I’m sorry for being so selfish. Really I am. And trust me it has nothing to do with my lust for you. I love your body, I love kissing you with wet strokes and seeing you watching me, blushing with desire… But you excite me even with the tip of your fingers, even with a breath on my thigh, and how could I willingly consent to stop when you have no idea how wet your licks makes me.

    I wonder why we don’t kiss very often.
    Maybe it’s because our whole silent -almost still, interaction is like a kiss. A kiss between warmth and shivers. A kiss between the hardness through your clothes and the softness under mine. Between that sexy tongue and my vibrating underwear.
    There’s been so much heat in my bed lately. So much heat in my body too. Sometimes it’s like a passive current like a swirl of red wine. Sometimes it floods my fingertips and my lips until I feel our skin melt together. Other times it’s a throbbing pule when I feel you against me and your breathing gets raspy from hearing me love you.

    Mostly I love to be in control.
    But I also love it when I’m powerless to you. When you pin me down and leave me begging you to touch me.

    I love it when you get hot from making me hot. And all that’s left of us is a boiling mass of evaporating teenagers. And we float to the ceiling like drops of condensation, that hang high, until you have to go home and I have to fall back to reality.

    It wasn’t fair at the beginning. My head was clouded with the likes of someone else, and I was projecting a sort of frustration I had for myself on you. But recently I feel I’ve had a sort of breakthrough. I’ve discovered the ugliness of certain personalities and its turned me off completely. When I look at you, I see beauty. And I see sex.
    (sorry for being such a pervert and making everything about sex
    -but isn’t it?)
    I wish we would talk a little more. Not about him or her or any other pretext that distracts us from true conversation. I’d like to know what you want, what you feel, what you’ve been through.
    It’s difficult for me to understand how intimate we’ve become. I feel like it’s not real. I feel like I don’t deserve it.

    I’m so glad we’re each other’s. Even for a few months.

    p.s
    Your name sounds like my moans

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