“Holy shit, Nita,” he groans. I can feel his pleasant surprise hanging in the air the way humidity hangs in the south. “Baby - fuck,” he hisse..., slipping his fingers into my hair. He amorously glides strands away from my face, watching my head bow in his lap, over and over.I’ve given him head plenty of times, but never so ambitiously. I am hungry for him, famished for his pleasure, aching to make him feel better. My performance exhibits everything I want to express, that which there are no. A small clearing comes into view and in the center is the other mill stone from the pair that worked whatever mill they came from. Your focus is on the center, instead of another hand-fashioned emoticon, there is a real rose. You step closer, wondering if the note that should be with it has blown away. Looking around, I step from behind a thick and ancient oak tree. My smile shows nothing but happiness that you’ve journeyed this far, my eyes silently share the deep connection we’ve built. More

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