An Open Letter: Falling For You

crazy

Do you have any idea how crazy you make me? Of course you don't—I haven't told you. You said your imagination runs away? You haven't even caught a glimpse of mine. Let me show you. Pay attention.

My mouth waters at just the thought of pressing my lips to your skin. It really doesn't matter where. I favor the neck, the collarbone, the swell of a breast, the in-curve of your hip, your thighs, your lips. My hands crave you. And I don't even know what you feel like. But I got this itch to touch you, to slide my palms over you and squeeze and stroke and capture you. And hold you against me.

I want to look into your eyes and smile and look totally calm, even though my heart is freaking out. My breathing will be falsely controlled. Do I look like I know what I'm doing? Cause I'm terrified you'll spook and bolt. What do you do when you're on the verge of something and you don't quite have it yet, but you plan and plot and dream.... oh, I dream...

We are standing with one foot over the line.

I can close my eyes and take a deep breath and in my mind I can do wonderful things to you.

I want to wrap myself around you and press against you and feel every inch of you. Are you wanting—as wanton—as I am? At that pivotal moment, will your heat compare to mine? Will your breath come in little gasps, will your heart throb and flutter as does mine?

wanton

I'm tempted.

Tempted to give in, to lean in, to pull close and envelop. I'd be all limbs and lips. Holding you close, begging you silently not to move—don't pull away. Come closer. Be against me. I want to feel you.

I feel wanton, I feel dizzy and out of control. I'm not trained. I am clumsy and new. How fast should we move? What do you like? What do you want? What can I do for you?

Simple little things. I want to hold your hand, feel your skin on mine, sit near you, catch your scent. I'll breathe you in. You make my mouth water and my heart quiver.

You make the core of me rev up and rumble and purr. You make me tense—only contact will give me relief.

I want to cradle you between my thighs, to feel your mouth on my neck, my breasts. Your hands all over me. Everywhere. I want you to touch me. Oh, do you want to touch me as badly as I want to touch you? I want to explore you with fingers and teeth and tongue. And dare I—may I—will you let me leave behind a little clue? A little mark? "Blue was here?"

I want to arch my back for you and mew for more. I want the room to spin though I'm lying down, and I want you to spin with me.

I want and I am wanton.

This part of me is hungry—this part of me I offer to you; I lay bare, unarmored, open.

impure

Fuck, what you do to me. Girl, you make me crazy. Your scent clings to me even after a shower, a subtle reminder of our closeness. I can still taste the memory of your lips on mine. My body remembers the feel of yours against it, of your hands on my neck, my shoulder, my side and my hip and my breast. Your thigh between mine, so close to my core. My skin aches for yours. My tongue wants to trace your jawline, my legs want to twine with yours, my fingers want to slide between, curl inside.

Your sighs, your sudden intake of breath, subtle shifting beneath me; what are you feeling, I wonder? Am I too timid to be bold, or am I giving you space, giving you time? I imagine you're as starved as I am. I've slipped my hand beneath your waistband hundreds of times in my mind, found your lips as puffy and hot and slick as mine. You hugged me with your most intimate muscles as I pushed past your defenses. I want to hear your noises of pleasure. I want to whisper you on.

Alternatively; maybe I'd perch on your lap, my fingers laced with your locks, thighs tense as you ease your fingers deep. I'd look into your eyes as I'm panting, feeling you everywhere, hyper sensitive of our every connection. Rub and nudge me into an arch, a gasp, a gripping of fingers and curling of toes. I'd bury my face against your throat and ride that sweet wave to the shore. Or claim your mouth with mine, lick your lips and suck your kiss.

Perhaps in sharing your bed, both warm beneath the blankets? I'd pull your breast into my mouth and flick my barbell over your nipple. I want to hear you moan. I want your hand on my wrist when my hand's between your legs. Or I could dip down, shuffle and slide beneath the covers, tuck myself in with your thighs on my shoulders. I want to know; what do you taste like? Will your musk make me light-headed as I lap between the lines?

fear

I feel myself tumble, losing my reserve, failing my restraint. I try to hold back; to keep my emotions, my heart, in check. I don't always succeed. What makes it so easy to love you? So easy, even while I'm so uncertain of your footing? So afraid of wanting too much, of loving you too much—I'm terrified of where we're going, what it all means. I can't not think about it. Every time I say it, every time I confess, I'm admitting it to myself as much as to you. I love you. I'm also saying so much more, so much I'm not saying, but feeling. My chest is tight (I'm afraid) and my mouth is dry (don't hurt me) and my heart is throbbing (I need you). I'm yours. So completely and irrevocably yours, and... is it too much? Is it still too soon? Are you prepared to take me in the ways I want to belong to you?

Crack open my ribs and hold my heart in your hands. There is no hierarchy in my heart. My love is absolute. I will do anything for you. Whatever you ask. I'm a happy purring kitten, curled up with you. When you're gone, I look for you.