Guest Contributor DykeRoad: A Letter to the Woman I want to…

Dear beautiful woman,

My hands are shaking as I attempt to write this. I’m not sure if its my body’s reaction to copious amounts of alcohol from last night or a manifestation of my resistance to share this.

My body has done some strange things lately. On Friday night, I hyperventilated in the bathtub. It had been a long day, and an even longer week with too little sleep. I wanted to give my flesh some relief but as I swooshed in the lavender infused water, I thought the thought that induced my little panic attack. “What if I never have that feeling again?” The feeling of having my legs wrapped around you as you slowly bring me to orgasm with those fingers that God took extra time to make; while telling me how gorgeous I am.

I remember the first time we got together. I sent a message to my best mate beforehand. I wrote, “I have one thing to say: I’m in [XYZ’s] bedroom and I’m about to tap that”.  An ironic statement in retrospect because while I’m sure I played my part in ‘tapping that’, that night which carried on into the morning and then the afternoon, marked the beginning of an awakening.

How to describe us sex ? Gaddamn, Out of this world, Jesus Christ, or Picture rolling eyes, do not suffice… #nuffsaid!

I couldn’t stop talking about it to anyone who cared to listen. My panties would get wet from kissing you. Honestly, two minutes of your lips pressed against mine was what it took for my pussy to feel like a warm glow had come over it. I would place my hands around the back of your neck so that I could really take my time but as soon as I let them drop to cup your behind and pull you close, my mind would begin to do the maths of how long it would take to get you off of that train, down the streets, out of restaurant/bar/pub or where ever the hell it was, to get some privacy and just own that body in all the ways I knew how. My calculations were only reliable in terms of getting us out of eyesight but not earshot. Your flatmates could hear us even through music and even though I felt embarrassed to discover that, I’m glad I never knew quiet sex with you. To be fair, that would’ve been hard to accomplish with things like getting teased in corsets, being bent over, or having your wrists bound while I worshipped your body.

I loved how you would tease me and make me wait before entering me. I was too much in a hurry but feeling you dripping on me was…there are no words. Going down on you, hmm, let me think of how to explain it. There was nothing like the feeling of placing my tongue on you, tasting you until I saw and felt your body quiver. And afterwards I would be so turned on that I could cum in a hot sec if you touched the least erogenous part of my body, for instance my (?). I am drawing a blank here because it was impossible to find a part of my body that wasn’t turned on. My entire being was on fire for you.

I could never sleep for too long when I was with you. My body and mind just wouldn’t let me and being with you must have obviously tampered with some key sleep fuses. I usually woke up around 3am and just listened to you breathing and bask in the feeling of the cocoon we’d made with our bodies. I felt safe and content. It was perfect. After some time I would kiss your back and your shoulders, run my hands along your naked body and begin an urgent mental prayer for you wake up so that we could have a replay. My personal gods must love me because it always worked. I also loved that you weren’t shy to keep eye contact when the position allowed it because the absolute hottest thing was being able to look at you, and then into your eyes, and each time my brain would swear to me that I was fucking an angel.

Every time I thought “This is it. You cannot have better sex than this”, I was proved wrong. I tried to explain to a friend using a travel analogy: Imagine you decide to go on a trip with someone. This trip being sex, the modes of transport the different ways of arriving at an orgasm, and the locations the orgasms themselves. You could start by walking, and then you take the bus and then you take the tube and then you take the train, and then a plane e.t.c., e.t.c. One day you might end up in Brazil, the next in Congo, and the next in Australia. The first time you visited Brazil, you may have gone by plane. Another time, you may have used the boat but you made a few stops on the way. On a different occasion, you might visit all three locations and even discover a fourth!  With you, I wasn’t thinking of sex in terms of only orgasms but the journey of it. I felt lucky that we were comfortable enough to be spontaneous and to pleasantly surprise ourselves each time.

I’m writing this because I needed an outlet after my bathroom episode. I’m not sure what I expect if you read this. I also don’t think my words have done justice to just how powerful being with you was but maybe I can try to tell you the rest when I see you;)

P.S. Follow @dykeroadbaby on twitter and check out her blog via

2 comments On Guest Contributor DykeRoad: A Letter to the Woman I want to…

  • great read. i know what this feels like, that impossible to describe transcendent kind of sex… that makes you arrogant because it’s clear no one else is experiencing anything even close, you almost feel sorry for them… i also know the deep sense of loss, panic even, when you can’t have it anymore.. you’ve been spoiled and every encounter you will ever have will pale in comparison

  • Totally agree. DykeRoad, you have been spoilt.

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