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Forget the house that Jack built....These are the words Lexia writes!... Not your average pic-a-nic basket BooBoo by any means, Lexi serves up tasty delectable morsels of erotica for her audience to devour greedily! Having grown weary & despondent from suppressing all her passion,lustful thoughts and sultry imaginings, Lexia finally smelt the coffee - a new day dawned! Take a trip along the silken corridors of Lexia most intimate desires and immerse yourself in pure and undiluted irresistible fantasy... Be it an account of wanton animalistic need that just has to be sated... Or an expression of amorous sensuality that reaches a fever pitch crescendo of ecstasy, Lexi delivers every time....

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26 Jul 2011

To Live the Dream or Take Solace in Make-Believe?




An almost complete stranger to me and I to him, except for a rare shared photograph on the odd occassion. We have never met, not in person, not in reality. Our eyes have never seen one another in the flesh. We have never breathed the same air or shared smiles with loaded meaning. So how can it be that we know an intimacy, share a chemistry and an undeniable mutual attraction? He tells me how much I enthrall and arouse him, to the point of distraction. I have seen with my own eyes, through long ago secret images he permitted me to feast upon for my gratification and pleasure. My desires run riot within the secure parameters of my imagination. Late at night, whilst I am alone, in private moments, sometimes in my dreams. When I wake, the first thing I feel is undiluted need, a physical ache that I wish could be soothed. We communicate our fantasies. Lust flows through his words and mine as together they build vivid crystal pictures, scenes of those shared desires realised.



Many months pass by, communication is lost, for unknown reasons. The thought of one another appears in the mind's eye, uninvited. Often unprompted or provoked, then archived away with a rueful feeling, one of sadness and regret at never living the dream.... Do I believe in fate? In chance? Perhaps. Then one day, like a bolt out of an azure blue, he returns to my conscious mind once more. Careful deliberation and much thought later, I take a chance and make contact with him. I do not respect a reply. He may not remember me or our distant yet intimate exchanges. Or perhaps he will recoil with distaste... After all, people change over time. But maybe, he will recollect the words that flew between he and I. Pressing "send" on my keyboard, my message wings it's way along technological highways. I can but wait. I do not hope with too much longing for him to reply with his signiture silken words. Words that caress me like a nimble lover's fingers, or lips, or tongue.


"Message waiting" greets my line of vision, instantaneously. My stomach churns, emotions flying into turmoil. Arousal ventures into the baren landscape of my inner mind as gingerly I open the message in the inbox, my apprehension is almost stifling. He greets me courteously, cautiously polite in response until gradually we ease into comfortable territory. I will not rush this, I will not charge recklessly ahead. This... Whatever this may be between he and I, has no title nor name and cannot be pigeon holed with a label. It is however unique, deeply erotic and to me it is precious. It is illicit, sensual and graphic but in no way sordid. It is not cheap nor meaningless. Not to me at least...


The future is a mystery. I live for the now, in the only way I know how to. If we were ever to take the leap, if I ever finally met him, face-to-face; close enough to breathe in his scent and close enough to touch...How would it all play out? Would the reality disappoint either one of us? Would it live up to so many intense fantasies, some of which we shared and some kept private? Would it be safer to exist in our imaginations, protected by mystery with make-belive our guardian and defense from the cold harsh light of day, back in the real world?


Whatever the answers may be, I wake again early to dawn sunlight streaming through the crack in my curtains. Before my eyes attempt to open or blink sleepily into wakefulness, something addictive has me in it's irristable grip. Desire. Yearning. A hunger to be touched, explored and invaded, stripped bare. To press my naked skin against his naked skin. This white hot passion holds me captive. I wait for another message, another installment from him to quench the need in me. I pray for sweet intimacy in his every word, believing inspiration lies in what he may say to me the next time we connect. Until then.....

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