Commissioned Erotica
I was commissioned by Bridget to write a love letter to Eugene Hutz of Gogol Bordello. It follows:
My Darling Eugene,
(Eric) I burned your name onto my left butt cheek.
(Jerome) I feel a little reluctuant to tell you how I feel when I see your tight butt cheeks...
(Lynn) I give great head and no longer have any difficulty saying "penis".
(Bridget) He is so sweaty and hot, especially when he is gyrating his torso (pelvis). Feel free to call or stop by when you're in Madison. Sincerely Yours, Your Gypsy Princess.
(Eric)You know, sometimes my butt gets achy. And I dream of you, Eugene, massaging my precious butt-cheeks to relieve the tension. And then you move around to give me more massage, moving gently - yet forcefully - to my sleek inner thigh.
But rather than making the tension go away, it starts to get worse. I feel your hands pressing me deeply, calling out a symphony of lusty desire. My inner thigh begins to jump at your touch, like the proverbial Jesus Lizard, jumping at the touch of a daring predator, a thousand symphonies of heat.
I conduct you, Eugene, showing you to nuzzle out the places that please me by the sound of my sighs. Soon, you play me like a gypsy melody, calling from my Woman's Place such strains of beauty and desire as have not been known in years.
No quick hand jobs. No bitter peace of unprotected conception; no long slow sleep of death enbalmed. No balls slapping my forehead; no grinding white ass cheeks. No, my royal gypsy stallion - I want you inside me. The lunging thighs of you, driving against me. I clutch your back, drawing my tongue across your brazen chest like a PAGAN LASH OF FIRE!
I draw the hard jade stem up toward the softest, most yielding heart of me. Because I sense the pleasure straining within you, calling out to me, to hurtle into me.
I slap your fiery ass as the end comes. I vault against you, hearing your ragged bellow of release, like the bellow of an Ice Breaker's foghorn as it smashes through the virginal wastes of the Arctic.
At this level of release, of intimacy, there is no time, no space, no gender, no humanity. With you, Eugene, we have come our souls out of our bodies, into the eternal ecstasy of God.
P.S. I am not cheap.
-Bridget.
My Darling Eugene,
(Eric) I burned your name onto my left butt cheek.
(Jerome) I feel a little reluctuant to tell you how I feel when I see your tight butt cheeks...
(Lynn) I give great head and no longer have any difficulty saying "penis".
(Bridget) He is so sweaty and hot, especially when he is gyrating his torso (pelvis). Feel free to call or stop by when you're in Madison. Sincerely Yours, Your Gypsy Princess.
(Eric)You know, sometimes my butt gets achy. And I dream of you, Eugene, massaging my precious butt-cheeks to relieve the tension. And then you move around to give me more massage, moving gently - yet forcefully - to my sleek inner thigh.
But rather than making the tension go away, it starts to get worse. I feel your hands pressing me deeply, calling out a symphony of lusty desire. My inner thigh begins to jump at your touch, like the proverbial Jesus Lizard, jumping at the touch of a daring predator, a thousand symphonies of heat.
I conduct you, Eugene, showing you to nuzzle out the places that please me by the sound of my sighs. Soon, you play me like a gypsy melody, calling from my Woman's Place such strains of beauty and desire as have not been known in years.
No quick hand jobs. No bitter peace of unprotected conception; no long slow sleep of death enbalmed. No balls slapping my forehead; no grinding white ass cheeks. No, my royal gypsy stallion - I want you inside me. The lunging thighs of you, driving against me. I clutch your back, drawing my tongue across your brazen chest like a PAGAN LASH OF FIRE!
I draw the hard jade stem up toward the softest, most yielding heart of me. Because I sense the pleasure straining within you, calling out to me, to hurtle into me.
I slap your fiery ass as the end comes. I vault against you, hearing your ragged bellow of release, like the bellow of an Ice Breaker's foghorn as it smashes through the virginal wastes of the Arctic.
At this level of release, of intimacy, there is no time, no space, no gender, no humanity. With you, Eugene, we have come our souls out of our bodies, into the eternal ecstasy of God.
P.S. I am not cheap.
-Bridget.