lambie

I think listening to your breathing last night gave me a dream about you. I was tired, just getting out from work and you were asleep on my couch. You looked so peaceful and beautiful. So with so much pent up stress I did the only logical thing, turning you onto your stomach and pulling your panties down. You woke up around this point and started whimpering into the pillow asking me what I was doing. My only reply was to thrust into you. You let out a gasp and more desperately asked what was going on and all that got you was your face shoved into the cushion and my heavy breathing. It didn't last long, how could it when you felt as nice as you did and I was as hungry for you as I was. When I finished you were just a teary sobbing mess of a thing. So utterly ruined and all the more beautiful for it. Like a painting degraded by the sun. You never knew my name, and the only thing you ever heard me say was "Good girl" as I strode from your house, my cum still dribbling out of you.

I remember on your old blog you spoke about making movies and whatnot and I just wanted to say, I really hope you continue down that path and wind up making ur dreams come true.

cally as what flows from your pen. Writing has never been my strong suit. I second guess myself too much. I linger on every sentence, writing and erasing only to rewrite what I've already said a million times over. Writing is my rock of sisyphus, though for you sweet lamb, I push my stone ever higher, refusing to relent, for what good is perfection if we do not chase it? To be human is to strive for what we can never hold. We chase so much, fame, immortality, power. But to what end?

"Dear [Lamb], I'm sorry for taking so long to respond, your letter left me speechless and took my breath away. The way you described the intimacy of writing physical letters was sublime and I wish I could write prose as poeti"