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How you love my scissors, let me cut you more

A fire – that is what a woman is, Gautama.
Her firewood is the vulva,
her smoke is the pubic hair,
her flame is the vagina,
when one penetrates her, that is her embers,
and her sparks are the climax.
In that very fire the gods offer semen,
and from that offering springs a man. (Source from –Brihadaranyaka Upanishad 6.2.13)

We spoke like long-lost lovers, wanting to express everything in one go, looking for new forms of excitement. You are singing a song, and I want to hear you more, just one more word, don't stop and fall over with the night. Let's keep talking forever, and I am vulnerable to you.

She was on the beach, sand all over her body, this was her dream, she found me, the sand was going away, and she was trying to do something with that sand, our lives are like that sand, it will pass by sooner or later whatever we have left we should be aware and enjoy the present gifted to us.

She seemed excited, excited enough to keep me aware of my senses. I woke up, saw her message, and sent her a Kamasutra position painting where a man was holding her lover close to penetration. Like us, closer but waiting, my views about satisfying her have taken a profound turn; after reading about women's wants and desires, I have realised tongue is mightier than dick.

We spoke about everything, and I can't wait. I remember her smooth face and body but want to see her again in person so much that a profound lightning effect shakes my body for a few seconds every time I think about our meeting. I asked her to send me her photo, and she sent me three. She said she liked the scissors position when we first fucked in my small bed. Pleasuring by reminding those little things from the past, we are looking for something new over the horizon.

Photo one where she is looking in my eyes, my heart and neves around it stimulates after looking at her, and she is all covered in pink bedding and sheets. She is a goddess I wish to worship, her lips soft and graceful in pink visible to me, wanting and waiting to be kissed but with elegant poise. She is unravelling a lot of mystery in her eyes, and I zoomed in on the photo, heartbeat racing. My love, you are so beautiful.

Another photo of her face, smiling, eyes little shut, small look with silver hair all around. The image is simple, like how she is, free and baby-like, as if some 5-year-old girl is smiling without worries.

I deeply observed something about myself, she is my love, and I have accepted her as my partner, as someone who represents my most profound truth. I realised her skin is precisely my skin, something very similar. Her eyes have stopped seeking; she is playful and is even posturing to come out and is a bit shy at the same time.

I am glad I can come across this truth with her, this truth of the lines on her face and accepting those lines beautifully as they are, not wanting to change anything, deserving the best. Your beauty I have seen under the moonlight at various parts of the land, I have shared those tips with you, I have caressed that face many times.

Thanks for loving me back.

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