Good Girl Clothes

I put on a hot pink bra and panties under my good girl clothes for you. Over that I have slim boot-cut jeans that hug my hips, a dark purple tank-top and matching silk cardigan. Simple silver necklace. No pearls today. I’m working on understated makeup now: tinted moisturizer, a bit of eye highlight, mascara, lip gloss. 

It’s all very ladylike. Very “take me home to your mama if your mama is Catholic and thinks you need a bit of reforming your ways.” But there’s the hint of naughty that comes from curvy jeans and a flash of cleavage. So you remember that your mama doesn’t know what I like you to do to me in bed. It’s the look I perfected for you.

-Visionaria

December 10, 2018

Writing to you, thinking of you, makes me like myself again.

-Visionaria

Where to find me after Dec 17

I’ll keep it simple because who knows what the future holds. For now, you may find me on:

Instagram: @Visionaria

Twitter: @Visionaria73

Tumblr: ProfoundlyV.Tumblr.com

And via email to Visionaria73@yahoo.com

Keep the faith.

Yours,

-V

I have to remind myself to breathe. In bed, the lights out, tucked safe under the down comforter my mouth is suddenly dry. I blink, swallow against the tightness in my throat. The photo is small, a thumbnail on my phone, grainy and over-exposed yet I’ve no trouble seeing you in the group. Everyone is dressed the same but your smile is wider. Sunlight flashes on the rim of your sunglasses. It looks like a starburst just at the edge of your helmet. My chest constricts. I wonder when the shot was taken, what month, what year. I wonder where. The earth under your lounging form is hard, barren, fuzzy with dust or silt. There’s a patch of dying grass, nearly grey, at the edge of the frame, a hydration pack discarded. Your boots gleam. It must be early in the day. There are other people there - six or eight - I don’t count them, I can’t stop looking at you.

-Visionaria

Truth

As I heard your hand on the doorknob my voice faded, leaving only the last gasp of the crescendo. You stepped into the bathroom and I leaned back into the hot spray, chest heaving. The water coursing down my body did little to ease the sudden tension coiled in my stomach.

“What was that?” your voice was low and smooth.

Mine rasped, “A Mozart cantata. One he based on a traditional tune.”

“Why don’t you ever sing for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“How come you don’t sing for me? You’ll sing in front of thousands of strangers but you won’t sing for me.”

“I…" I cleared my throat “I don’t do that any more.” I sucked in a sharp breath, “It makes me panicky even thinking you heard me through the door.”

“So don’t think of it.” you said as you pulled the shower curtain aside and looked me in the eye. “Sing something for me, please.”

“What?” I laughed uncomfortably, the end of the word coming out as a squeak. “What would you want me to sing? I can’t. Don’t be silly.”

You smiled and looked thoughtful for a moment, then settled against the sink vanity. “Sing whatever comes to mind, something you listened to as a kid, anything you like.”

The shower curtain twitched closed leaving me to imagine you there, waiting, with one socked foot crossed over the other, worn jeans and soft wool sweater, your hair sticking up as if you’d been running your hands through it. Hoping to ease the tightness in my throat I ducked my head under the water letting it sluice over my face and hair. I rolled my shoulders and lifted my hands, flexed my fingers. I closed my eyes and pictured you as you’d looked that morning shaving, something I loved to watch. I saw again your hand poised, the careful pull of the razor blade.

My head tipped back slightly. I took one step forward and the sound rang off the walls of the small, steamy room.

You’d be so nice to come to

You’d be so nice by the fire

While the breeze on high, sang a lullaby

You’d be all that I could desire

Under stars chilled by the winter

Under an August moon burning above

You’d be so nice

You’d be paradise, to come home to and love

“Beautiful” you sighed, “What was that?”

“The truth.”

-Visionaria

(originally posted 27 December 2011)

Don’t make a sound. If you do, they’ll know. They’ll know how deep I am inside you.

If you moan, everyone will hear and guess how hard I’m fucking you. Your stuttered screams will give away each pulse of your wet pussy around me, echo the spasms of your cumming cunt.

That’s it, that’s my good girl. Bite down on that lip. Open for me in a silent plea. I can feel how much you need it. Shake for me but, no, don’t cry out. No one ever has to know.

Shhhhh, yes. This way it’s just between us. It’s our little secret that I can feel your muscles fluttering around the tip of my cock.

Later we’ll pretend you weren’t rocking your hips to take the brunt of every stroke.

-Visionaria

(first posted 9 December 2011)

Tumblr “allowed for sex in a space that wasn’t dominated by male desire.”

Yes!!!! This this this.

-Visionaria