Epistolary Therapy Three

Dear Imma Call You Robert Johnson,

I thought about your dick again. The clean-sheets soft skin and crew-cut patch of hair. You condition. The most beautiful cock I have ever seen. The bitter: bitter. Sustenance. The way our bodies clung like puzzle pieces. The twinned rhythm and deep bass of your banter's bellow. Crossroads and connections. Cracked and peeled yellow wallpaper. Deep throating without a whimper and the desire for even deeper. I shook that day. You were tender. Gave me a moment. Shallow passion breaths. You rode my face. The throat opened and brown eyes closed. The joy of purpose! I liked it when you talked to me. Whispered orders like R. Lee Ermey but soft and on the downlow. I thought you would growl but you kept silent when you came. Thanks for the night of fifteen to twenty ejaculations. Thanks for the brother bear and bad company. More. Please more.

Forever Indebted,

X

P.S. "I am still thirsty."