Tuesday, March 23, 2010


At 40, he wasn't the heady bachelor I thought maybe he would be. He was as he described himself: single, and a man who could not cook. Essentially, a specimen who failed the test of domesticity; a man lovable for all the wrong reasons. He was eye candy material and nothing more... (March 1st)

I cringe and squirm as my pussy burns with need of you to exist in that hallowed place that is your playground alone. (February 16th)

I touch myself and grind my ass against you as you go deeper... deeper... deeper... and I'm surely drowning in you; sight black, yet flecked with colors, spectrum of the rainbow. I tell you I'm going to come, but it's too late and it's all too much--you pumping... whispering in my ear, holding me across my chest--I am coming, faster than I can catch, and I'm growling, whining, pushing you away and pulling you in all at once. Painfully sweet, I'm riding my orgasm, feeling explosion of heart, mind, and body to be simultaneous. (February 12th)

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