I swam out of my gentle, murky dream state this morning to find my hand already loitering between my thighs. My thoughts were of you, beautiful, as always. I succumbed to the temptation to continue my play, and let one exquisite, lonely orgasm rip through my body, leaving me wasted and fully awake.
I go back through and read old writings periodically. I like to let my words provoke those old creaky feelings. I read back through "Yielding," and instead of feeling the echo of the passion I felt when I wrote it, I felt the torturous burn of you reading my blog back to me. The afternotes of your perfume fill my senses, and I hear the lilt of your tongue reading those words. I hear your enunciation, your emphasis. "I'll try so hard to be strong." You liked that, I could tell. "Anything you wish." Just fuck me already, baby. Stop letting me twist and dangle. Stop making me squirm. I can still see the smirk gracing your lips. You asked, "What are you offering, exactly?" I never responded, because you know what I am offering.