Monday, April 21, 2008

My girlfriend Doris Day



There are certain things that make me recite Sapphic poetry. This time, it's not a classic engraving of Daphnis and Chloe, nut a pleasant, 50's or 60's visage of Doris Day.

If it was not my girlfriends Janet, I would really like to fall in love and spend days of hedonistic bliss with Doris. Her lips here might appear as thinner, or more taut, but imagine this heavenly mouth locked by a gentle suction to your own lips. These lips taste just as yours, perfectly cared for, soft, pleasantly warm, with a hint of an almost edible lipstick. I am not a blonde, but I would feel like we would complete each other's color oppositeness. My raven-black hair would blend with Doris' blondeness, right after an unforgettable makeout session, after we suddenly felt perfectly comfortable to break the kiss and rest, cheek-to-cheek, staring at the ceiling, whispering softly, about the silliest things that otherwise we have never divulged since our girlhood.

We would laugh, tickle each other with the locks of our own hair, and unexpectedly look into each other's eyes. Doris would quizz me with the blueness of her huge eyes, and my eyes would inhale the outlines of her mysterious face. Doris would nibble on my lip, then let her lower lip get caught between her own lips, seductively, and realizing that my panties are ready to be pulled off, disappear under the sheets. Doris is an unsurpassed, perfect lesbian MILF, and men have never conquered her. As I reach for my pulsating, battery-powered never-tiring finger, I melt in fantasies of Sapphic erotica,  Kim Novak,  lesbian blogs,  Ann Lister romance,  Emily Dickinson's cat poems, Avril and Lux, Peaches, Renee, Zafira, Pailina, Felicia, and many, many other equally sweet, cheesecake delicacies...

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