Dear Reader,
Nothing is more beautiful in nature than a woman when she comes, when the suffusing bliss of orgasm overtakes her and the exquisite ecstasy of it all registers on her face.
My dear reader, if you are a woman, I want my words to slide into you and curl up inside your imagination like fingers slipping inside your pussy after you have moistened.... after you have become petal-open.
I want my words swirling around in the convolutions of my sentences like a tongue swirling around inside you, parting you open, now twirling around your clit, the little bud that I would love to be kissing right now, as you are stretched out before me, legs spread open, back arched a bit, with my hands on each bosom, near your heart, sensing you, like a seisomograph, as you quiver, as you breathe harder and faster, as you begin to pant, as your sighing and moanings ascend the scale in the octaves of pre-orgasmic pleasure, with my tongue now giving way to my cock as my baton to orchestrate it all.
I want to slip inside you deep and hard and full, and have you pull me deeper into you, and I will then respond with the most erotic and romantic act of all--a deep, meaningful kiss--and as our lips mate, the rhythm of lovemaking begins: I want to make love to you slowly at first, a violin bow going back and forth inside you pianissimo, my motions getting every fiber inside you aroused and vibrating, and then as the pace picks up, you are a clarinet getting fingered and a flute getting kissed and blown over.
Then we join in for the crescendo, your thrusts meeting mine, the percussion instruments taking over as I beat deep inside you, rumbling you all over, your skin stretched as tight as a drum played by the snare of my lips, and then its full orchestral accompaniment, all your senses aroused as you begin to explode and flow, explode and flow, explode and flow in pulsations of pleasure, the waves of sound and sexual energy spreading all through you, beginning on the stage but now flooding the entire hall over into the balcony seats.