Mistyveii - Totally Random Thoughts

Tasting Her

You know what’s sexy as fuck? When your tongue has made her cum five or six times, her thighs won’t quit quivering on your ears, her body is rocking back and forth, she’s pulling away from you because it’s so sensitive, but as she pulls away her hands are in your hair pulling your toward her more

That’s the point I know the next orgasm will be the best one yet, the one to make her have aftershocks for minutes after. The one where I can finally stop, kiss all the way up her body, suck on her neck before whispering “Proud of you Kitten” in her ear as she lies there limp, shaking and breathing like she ran a marathon.

I have a secret....I am pretty and sexy. I go for really long periods of time where I don't fuck anyone. Not necessarily by choice but because I haven't met anyone. The longest time I have been celibate is 4.5 YEARS! I don't want to go that long. I'm afraid I'll die before I get to make love again. There's a difference between fucking and making love. If I could have both at the same time, that would be awesome!

Beautiful!

Cocktail hour

Ladies I have another question for you....

What’s one thing you wish guy did while he was going down ?

Lips

“I never stopped feeling for you, I just stopped letting it show.”

— Unknown

Ballad of a Broken Woman

I’ve always been aware of it.

The flat yet hungry look some men get when they look at me. They look at, but not in.

They imagined, wove their personalized fantasy and threw it over my shoulders. It’s always so heavy. Impossibly so, but I bore it with a smile through gritted teeth. Every girl wants to be desired, right?

I endured until I was a rage-filled wraith.

I’m not your manic pixie dream girl. Fuck that.

I’m not manic, nor am I a goddamned pixie. My bones are strong, and I am tall, so I can look you in the eye. I’m no dream. I breathe, eat, shit, sleep, just like you. 

Most of all, I am no girl. 

I’m in my third decade. I’ve earned my high standards. Every single one of my scars. Some are physical. Most are not, but they are mine. 

For years, I lived in terror that he would see that I am no panacea. I would not, could not heal him. I am no savior. I am limping as much as he, am just as frightened. My thoughts are just as disheveled, if not more.

What happens when I shake the fantasy off my shoulders, and he sees that I need him more than he needs me? That I wasn’t built to organize his life, give him purpose, clean his dirty laundry and constantly replenish his deflated ego?

What of my ego, if I find no significant nourishment in serving his? What of my purpose, my dirty laundry?

Will he raw his knuckles on it, wash me and make me new, just like he expected me to do with his?

What happens to the silent few, the women who cannot, or will not be a mirror for a man’s dreams? Is it selfishness, or is it that my own desire burns me to distraction?

I don’t know anymore. I am no vessel. There is no end to me to stop the flow. I am no lake. I am an ocean. I go on forever. Churn with fierce and frightful imaginings, so far removed from white picket fences.

Still, I dream of love, but free. 

What man will dive deep into me, be swallowed up, despite his fear of drowning?

There is so much in me, so much to share with a man who dares. I am not easy. I am not always kind. 

I hurt, but there can be shared comfort, unlike any he’s felt before, in the healing.

Adriana Lima’s Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show Evolution (2000 - 2018)

I'm hungry tonight, yet I want to be devoured.