dear boyfriend Desired,
Please come visit me, here. I want to hold you, smell you, kiss your neck. Kiss your mouth, be equal to you. Deeply, I want to relax into being near you and what it feels like, to be close to you in space.
I want to feel your brilliant intelligence radiate onto me, in person, nourishing like sunlight, but soft. The attention you pay me, so alert and attuned to reality, but in person.
Your eyes looking at me, and your vibrant mind working to understand me, gently, would be the best feeling in the world.
But then I want to know what your hands feel like, your arms, how solid your body is, against my body. I want to touch your hair really bad. I want to see you close your eyes and enjoy me touching you. Some pleasure I could give you–why not. It would be the least I could do.
Sucking your dick would be my honor. My mouth wants to know you–your ridges, your taste. How you fit there, the head of your dick to the opening of my throat. I would get you off as best I could, and swallow every drop of your semen, love immediately.
Best wouldn’t be the first blowjob, though that could be wonderful. Best would be you fucking me, then a second, third, and hundredth time. Watching you come, getting a huge data set on what your facial expressions are like, when you ejaculate, and holding you.
I want to hold all of that. Hold who you as a complete being, including a complete sexual being. Hold the pain of the past, harm done to you in the name of love, harm you’ve done. I will be patient and kind, to your trauma. Mostly I want to be with you as you are.
I want to learn how your sexuality fits with the rest of you. The urge to create, the tenderness you seem to treat all people with. I wonder if your sexuality makes sense, with the rest of you. Maybe it’s clumsy and warped. Or maybe it’s even more graceful and powerful than your regular self. I’m curiously available to how it actually is.
If I was lucky, you would hurt me. I would beg you to pin me, be forceful to me, hear me crying “no” and ignore that. Pretend violation from your kind, sacred body would be so good for me.
Seems healing, to accept your violence or play-violence, as I accept your semen deep against my cervix, straining closer to you, as you shoot your load into me. Enacting ancient stuff with you, from our own pasts or our ancestors’ pasts. Meeting you as you are, however that is.
I most want to be your girlfriend and matter to you. When I’m alone and think of you, I imagine all of this. I whisper, “I want to matter to you.” Not the words so much–I’m not wishing for you to explain it to me, though I’d like that too.
Mostly I want you to behave like I matter, and honor me with your body. I want you to be an animal with me, and a boyfriend. The cute smile I would like to smile extra for me. Or if I could get a look at times that felt a little bit special.
Mostly I wish that I was not a regular person to you, one of billions, a child of God, or some kind of sister. But that I was a unique equal to you, and if you would love me in a way specifically for me.
You know me in a way no one else does, as you inspire new things. This new lady wants you to love her, especially with your body.
We could do a ritual–we could hold hands, if you wanted to. Maybe you would just hug me hello and goodbye every day. I could put a lot of love into two hugs. That could be a world, to me.
If you needed to, we could take it super slow, slow motion. I could just hold you for a year or two. You could feel out what you really wanted. I don’t want to rush you or anyone.
I don’t remember anyone else’s handwriting ever making me want to come, before. My cunt wants to rub itself on your handwriting and come on its intense messy energy. I want you to enter me and stay a long boyfriend time.
I love you,