March 22

Dear Sammie:

I lay here with my hands clamped tightly between my thighs; wishing it were 
you, yet knowing it won't be.  So I just lay here, wishing.

You said when you left, that cold winter's day, I could fuck anyone I wanted to. 
I've tried.  I really have, but it's not the same.  I miss how you would separate my 
thighs, and lick my yoni while I slumbered next to you, sound in my comfort.    
You'd slowly bring me to a screaming awakening as I came with a force 
beyond my awareness.  You'd caress me and calm me and have me throbbing 
again while you sucked and fondled my over-ripe breasts.

I know it was a surprise to find me impaled on Mickey that night.  Won't you 
come back?  I miss you.  I missed you so much I almost let Mikey fuck me last 
night and while my eyes were shut, I could feel almost as though it were you.  
Until I opened my eyes and saw that prick of his sticking up above my belly 
button as I sat on his lap.  I miss how I'd run my tongue down your chest, across 
your nipples and then around your belly until I rimmed your navel.   I miss the 
smell of your sweet musk that became stronger as I got closer to your mound; 
that peach-fuzz covered delta of love.  I miss how I would have you clawing 
the sheets of our bed by just touching the tip of my tongue to your clit.

At night, when we slept, I slept the sleep of the dead; because with you by me I 
could be strong.  So I lay here, having not slept soundly another night; my hands 
between my legs; my being yearning for you.

Claire