She is the embodiment of femininity undeniably, a woman that exudes tranquility and sensuality perfectly, easily conveying hints of the depths of her ecstasy subtly; soft lights highlight the contours of her ethereal body flawlessly. Soft kisses and pink rose petals fall upon angelic beauty delicately.
It is a thing of contemplation, the beauty of a woman’s psyche, when she awaits in high heels, in high anticipation, silently, knowing that she will please and be pleased thoroughly; knowing that pleasure will start slowly and methodically, then progressively lead to pleas of Please fuck me, after her want is teased unbearably and she can take no more of the throbbing that inundates her pussy or the sensitivity of her nipples that are sucked and pinched intermittently between her hair being pulled and her ass being spanked firmly. She will be a willing whore for him, giving her body to his will completely — black stockings and heels conceal freshly deep purple polished toes that are amazingly pretty. Also concealed, is a glass butt plug in her ass that readies her for the wondrous world of anal ecstasy that hardened girth will explore shortly before she whispers lasciviously, Fucking punish me. Between fucking, she will get on her knees several times to taste herself and to please him orally. It will be a marathon session of pleasure uninhibited; her reddened ass left with hand prints and strands of her hair left in the places that she lost her breath, where her Yves Saint Laurent Black Opium perfume still holds its scent.
There is no greater a pleasure than in pleasing her. She moans beautifully when his tongue flickers with perfect pressure. She loves tasting her own ecstasy from the length of his fingers. Deep breathing always intensifies, when fully erect girth enters and the body starts to shudder. Wonderful chemistry is the poetry of lovers. Classic French perfume on satin is the euphoria that lingers. Elegance exudes with diamond earrings left on a beautiful antique dresser. Her eyes are almond, and her hair, long and dark with a silky texture. Two Sagittarius fires burn bright together. They so badly want each other, that they may fuck again in the shower, not even five minutes after the last dose of euphoria was over. Still, her perfume lingers on black satin covers. Excellently pedicured deep pink colored toes against a black satin backdrop caused her lover’s mouth to water; before he arrived at the place of her wet ecstasy, slowly, he sucked her toes passionately and thoroughly. Her perfume so intensifies the emotions of his ecstasy. With neck kisses, he experiences bliss as he inhales the scent of her deeply — liquid perfume and perfumed body powder is but a small portion of her feminine secrecy. Classic French perfume pervades black satin perfectly.
When I am no longer, throw roses on peaceful waters where beautiful Willows weep and where fireflies illuminate evening summers with slightly cool temperatures, then blow me impassioned kisses, listening closely for the echoes of my still loving whispers.
Let fallen tears on paper be my most read love letter. Read intently the sincerity between the lines as if the world was ending and I was in my final hour. The tears that permeate white paper are more significant, poignant and telling than anything that I can communicate through writing. You are the purpose of my breathing; you are the perfume of flowers on summer evenings; You are my love; you are my everything. You are the bursting of the dawn after a long night that causes birds to sing. You are the profoundly romantic poems of intimate whisperings. You are what I hold onto when everything around me falls apart; I love you — you are the life within me; you are my world; you are my heart.
You are a beautiful verse written with love and echoed in eternal whispers. The beginning of you causes the heart to be exceedingly joyful. The ending, something like perpetual rose petals in various colors falling on the wings of sleeping archangels.
Let me see you through my hands and not my eyes. Let me feel the beat of your heart and listen intently as if I were blind. Whisper to me sweetly and tell me with passion that you are mine. Allow me to caress your face and make a wondrous find. Lead me to the places that you want me to be — be my loving guide. Let me taste your most secret places; let me feel the pleasurable spasms of gratification on the tip of my tongue. Give my ears the pleasure of heavy breathing and the utterances of erotic whisperings. Ride my erect hardness with beautiful moans in intimate darkness. After, let us switch positions so I can pull your hair with the pleasure of primal vigor. Say to me loudly, Fuck me harder, so your words can further inspire my erotic fire. Suck my fingers — let me feel the softness of your tongue and lips — then guide those fingers to penetrate and rub the source of your drenched wetness. Tell me in lustful tones to rub and tease the sensitivity of your breasts. Turn around in reverse cowgirl; savor the pleasure of my girth and length. Ride me hard until there is nothing left but echoes of loud release, sweat and deep breaths. Let my hands be my eyes. Let my eyes see true beauty and unrestrained ecstasy. when I am inside you, tell me that you love me. Whisper to me the most lascivious wants of your sexual desires in the privacy of dark intimacy.
Within seconds, love was trampled upon and warmth was forever gone. We were lovers for many nights, but what I sincerely thought we had would never see another dawn. I had shown the depths of my heart that are rarely seen; I had put my cards on the table in sincere and loving transparency. Perhaps, it was blinding beauty, but you deceived me and mercilessly exploited my vulnerability. It was then that Medusa’s gaze was cast upon me in December’s cold and my heart turned to stone. There are no memories left to dwell upon. There are no pictures of you that I tearfully kiss in sweet reminisce. There are no secret hopes of rekindling anything. My heart does not lie to me; there is no wanting. If we crossed each other’s paths, I would keep walking. There are no wondrous dreams of you in a beautiful garden with rose petals perpetually falling. I fall asleep under soft light to keep the darkness from stalking. I do not think of you. I do not miss you. There is indifference. There is nothing.
How sweet the nectar of euphoria that comes from the drenched erogenous flower that first quivers with uninhibited pleasure on the tip of the tongue, then explodes shortly after, in congruence with a concupiscent whisper of — I’m going to cum, babe, suck my clit harder, and fuck me faster with your fingers.
1950’s burlesque icon Lili St. Cyr.
Again, Lili St. Cyr interviewed by Mike Wallace, this time remastered and not broken into two fifteen minute segments. In my opinion, her candid answers propelled her to a woman way ahead of her time. In her astute approach to Wallace’s direct style of questioning, I see a woman of both inner and outer beauty, calling out the glaring hypocrisy of her time, while perfectly balancing her own complex inner-conflicts. The fact that she admitted to not liking herself very much was heartbreaking and her sorrow was palpable. The inner strength to say these things in the late 1950’s cannot be overlooked. Her stance on marriage may be a point of contentious dialogue even now in the current day and much more unprejudiced atmosphere of defined relationships and matrimony. She said, “If you love someone and you want to live with them, the moment you decide that, you are married, without any law to say so—” a sentiment I wholeheartedly agree with. As stated in the interview, she wanted to leave her profession but found it hard to do so because of monetary concerns and mounting debt. In the beginning of the broadcast, Wallace states her annual income as $100,000.00 — certainly an amount that would have made her a wealthy woman for her time. Lili was also Marilyn Monroe’s role model; as is documented, Marilyn studied Lili’s dance moves and incorporated much of her signature look into her own personal and professional life. Lily St. Cyr had been arrested several times for “lewd behavior,” most notably in Los Angeles, California, in December of 1947. She was renowned for bubble baths during her famous burlesque performances. The interview:
Intimate Compositions 