you have this knack for finding me late at night when i'm all alone, your calls coming only when it's most convenient. you're a great conversationalist; you have been since the beginning. we can talk for hours about anything and nothing, deep or shallow. but you don't want to talk about anything, or nothing. you have a specific goal tonight, i think.
i encourage you as much as i can. i write you manifestos, promising any imaginable pursuit you could want. you up the ante, and i respond. but when it comes to conversations like this, well, my southern starts showing. as bold as i am, i get a little shy. does that surprise you? no matter. i think you're flexible enough to take the lead. i'm a traditional woman in some regards, and that means that if you lead, you'll find me quite responsive indeed.
there you go. you start the evening's storyline right where our writing left off. you've got a fantastic voice for this, low and slow, deep and assured. you lead me where you want me to go, and i gladly follow you. with each exchange, as your breath grows heavier, i finally lose my apprehensions and let go. my words spin forth with surprising ease; it's not every day that i indulge myself out loud like this. but your reaction is worth it. i may very well have rendered you speechless with my whispers, my entreaties, painting you the picture of how things would be were we not separated by so many miles.
when our story reaches its end, i lay back against my pillows and take stock of myself. you've, as always, done a number on me, your verbal skills finding their target so easily and so well. and from the sound of it, i hit my mark with you as well. good. i aim to please, after all. but you are the inspiration for all of this. don't forget that. our adventures together just entered a new realm. as long as you don't mind leading; a lady does know her place. well, sometimes...
"Now... Why Don't He Write?"
1 month ago