Love notes.

Lots of time on my hands = a wandering mind.

A note to The Boyfriend (currently on the road somewhere between Monkey Island, Oklahoma and Branson, Missouri):

It's really not fair, me getting this horny at work. Is it just boredom, or the close proximity to desks and chairs and copy machines (all perfect places for sex)? I don't know.

I've got this short-ish black skirt on and nothing underneath, and I have to resist the urge to touch myself, run my hands up my thighs and move my fingers inside of me, like you used to do.

I really want your face between my legs, under my skirt; I want to feel the heat of your breath there, your kisses, your tongue on and in me. I want to buck up against you and force you deeper. I want you to make me moan. I am throbbing with desire right now.


I want to rest my head on your thigh, stroke my favorite spot [Trail to Treasure], nuzzle my face in that silky hair, and breathe in your perfect scent [it's like horses]. And then I want you in my mouth..I miss the singular texture of you--hard cock beneath velvety skin, veins and corona and frenulum and the ridge of the head. So much for my tongue to explore and delight in, especially the oddly delicious contrast of sweet and salty.

Don't you want to be inside me right now? I think of us taking it slow and rocking our way to mutual orgasm.

I adore every bit of you.


I admit that I'm trying to get a rise out of him, however far away he may be. It's really not all that kind of me, is it?


Aha, he repliiiied:

" Oh my God.



That's really most of what I can say about that!

And yes..........God yes.







Yes."