Even as autumn cloaks me in its golden hues and russet tones, even as the cool winds whip and the rains fall, I yearn again for spring’s new beginnings, its buds and blossoms and sensual possibilities.
I am – and forever will be – a creature born in the last throes, at the close of days, weeks, months of blistering fire and overwhelming heat.
I am summer’s love child.
With the flavour of the sun in my flesh, with the dawn and dusk indelibly etched on my skin, with its wanton passion, its sensual caress in the curve of my hip, in the breath between my lips, with its sultry nights and lustful promises deep in my bones, flowing through my veins.
Do you know or even sense that I can think of little else?
Can you feel the way my body aches at the mere suggestion of your naked flesh, nothing between us, the promise of our fusion, the primal hunger for your seed filling my cunt, dripping from my womb, streaked hotly across my lips and tongue and blushing skin?
Do you know or even sense how I crave you and this possession as no other?
Can you see the need that wrenches me from the peace of my sleep and dreaming, forcing me to prematurely greet the day, spreading my thighs, arching my back, leading my hands to impatiently and crudely tug at the satins, the silks, the laces, my bare need exposed, my luscious sex gaping, desperate for the completing thrust of your hard, thick cock?
Do you know or even sense that this one thought, these nine words, have overtaken my erotic imagination and yearning so absolutely?
Yesterday was something of an oddity for me.
For the first time since the inception of Love Hate Sex Cake seven years ago, I genuinely didn’t feel its anniversary worth marking or celebrating. Lately, I’ve been musing about its quality, its purpose, my creative and sexual drive, and whether this site will be anything more than the repository of the yearning I feel each and every day. Much like the woman before you. A body that houses a craving for more – for intimacy, connection, love and passion, for the erotic fusion of mind, body and soul.
And yet here I am observing its beginnings once again, but mostly to extend my heartfelt thanks and gratitude for your unerring support and your communion with the words and imagery during a year of sporadic posting and diminished time and inspiration. Language will never quite express how much it means to me. The ability to touch, to inspire, to soothe, to excite, through whispers and cries, through pixels and light, through shadow and colour and monochrome tones is one I will never take for granted.
Was it your mind, your body, your desire, your face?
Was it the deep and accented voice laced with carnal passion and erotic yearning?
Was it the connection, our chemistry, the way my diminutive curves always felt the most perfect complement to your overwhelming presence and strength?
Was it the soft brush of your mouth, followed quickly by our sensual and ravenous kiss?
Was it the trail of my tongue along the curve of your neck and throbbing line of your cock, eager to taste a uniquely masculine scent and warmth?
Was it your command for me to hook my thumbs through the ebony straps, exposing myself to you with a complete and wanton brazenness I’ve only ever imagined and dreamed?
Was it your fingers teasingly charting the fullness of my dripping lips before filling my sweet cunt to the hilt and fusing with molten fire our need?
Was it the slow reveal that left me breathless at every turn, that left me aching and sodden from the very beginning, that has me craving to this day, that has me wondering through each long and lonely night?
Was it one or the other? Was it our every moment together?
Was it – and is it – your all?