Feed Me

We live within one another. We live for one another. I long for your love. I long for the sounds I hear when I reach out and touch your soul.

What happens when a tree falls in a forest and there is no one to hear it? Does it make a sound?

When I hear from you, I feel alive. When I can touch your soul and hear your pleasure, I am alive.

Yes, I just want attention. What would it be like if every day I made a sound and no one heard me and responded? No “you’re welcome” when I say thank you.

Without your response, I would never know if I touched your heart. I would never know if I touched your soul.

How do authors do it? How can I spend hours writing a book, expecting someone to read it but never knowing, never hearing the cries, never seeing the smiles, or even the scowls of disgust?

The silence is deafening. I have not heard from you. Your joy and encouragement is the ingredient in the secret sauce that’s missing from my life. Feed me, feed me please!

Can you hear me? What else can I do to get your attention? Like a patient in a hospital room, they gave me a red button to push to touch your heart, but when I push the button no one comes. When I call for my loved one, for you, my beloved, no one comes. Do you hear the words coming out from my heart? Can you hear my love for you in my voice?

No one comes. No one fed my lovesick heart today. Without sun and water, everything dies. We can adapt to live on less water and survive, but eventually, with no water, everything dies.

Talk to me, quench my thirst. Help me to thrive. Help me to stay alive. Feed your loved one a sliver of life. Feed me your voice. Feed me your love.

If a baby cries for his mother’s love and she hears him but ignores him, will he still survive? He screams louder and louder and eventually cries himself to sleep. And when he wakes, he hopes and prays for his mother’s voice.

I woke up today crying your name. Speak to me. Console me. Lift my spirits. You are the wind beneath my wings. Help me to fly. Help me to feel alive again, for one more moment, for one more day. Without your love and inspiration, I am nothing, just another starving baby crying for his mother’s love.

Audio: https://soundgasm.net/u/comealot/Feed-Me

Ageless

It felt a little strange looking around the room at the meeting last night. I saw friends I hadn’t seen in a while and it was like a high school class reunion. Everybody looked so much older. Everybody looked like they aged 10 years. You could see it in their faces and how much slower they moved around.

The last time I saw you in the pic you sent, you looked the same as you did the day I first laid eyes on you, when I saw your smiling face online. The young vibrant woman. The sexy woman. The woman who could take on anything and do anything and fix everything. So refreshing. You energize me!

Do I look older? I don’t feel older and that’s what’s so strange. I feel like a young man in an old man’s body. Don’t get me wrong, I can see it when I look in the mirror. I can see the gray hair, the wrinkles and the bags under my eyes, but I don’t feel like the man in the mirror. I feel younger, virile, full of energy and ready for new quests and frenetic excitement.

And you make me feel younger too. You remind me of the young man I was at your age and you excite me with the things we do together. You remind me of growth, big times, happy times, and the vast opportunities that await us. I feel alive again, ready to take on the world. I feel happy and free and ready for another day. I feel ageless.

Thanks, your energy is contagious. It’s because of you I feel this way. 😊

My Ideal Friend

A woman who gives me challenges and encourages me to do better. A woman I can use as a sounding board, to bounce ideas off of. A woman who trusts me. A woman who strokes my ego. A woman who asks me how I’m doing. A woman who listens to me and gives me advice on what I can do better. A woman who cares about me. A woman who accepts me for who I am. A woman interested in sharing the beauty of a life worth living.

Friends

As I write this letter to you today, I can see the sun shining high in the sky and I can feel the warmth of our creator. This bright sunny day reminds me of the first day I met you. Not because of the sun above, but because of the feelings that grew inside of me. You warm my soul. You know what attracted me to you. I don’t have to keep saying it over and over again. Yes, you had something I saw and something I so desperately wanted.

I’ll be honest, maybe for the first time in my life, I’ll be brutally honest. When I first saw you, I wanted sex, but to my surprise you gave me love. And as time passed on, I wanted friendship and that’s when you blessed me with a spiritual partnership.

And let’s not forget a big turning point in our lives. When my son died, you consoled me and soothed my tattered heart. I don’t deserve to have such a beautiful woman in my life, and I surely don’t deserve to have you as my wife.

This letter is meant to be a testament to the love I feel for you. I can’t unring the bell that rings true for me this day. I can’t change my mind and the way I feel for you deep inside. It’s real. It’s true. It’s the way I feel for you. Oh, how I miss your smiling face and your warm embrace.

You are the one who still puts a smile on my face, even on the days I’m feeling down. And I can see you smiling too, as you accuse me of playing games and acting like a clown. How does it feel to be a mother to a motherless child?

I love you and I will always love you, not in the way you expect and definitely not in the way you want. But this is not a perfect world we live in. Sometimes we want A and we get B. Sometimes I want you but you don’t want me. That’s OK, everything will work out in the end. God has a plan for us and that’s the crazy world we live in. That’s what is meant to be my friend.

Audio: https://soundgasm.net/u/comealot/Friends

To My Special Friend

Yes, I am your special friend and yes, we still have so much in common. We’ve both been banished to a world of make believe with kindred souls sharing the same affliction. We have no elbows. It’s a strange malady, but is the glass half full or half empty? We can’t feed ourselves, but we can surely feed one another. If only you let me. Tell me what you want and help me feed it to you. And I’ll tell you what I want and you can do the same.

When I read your letter I could only think about myself and how I would love to hear something you’ve recorded. I would love to hear your voice in that special way. I would love to be mesmerized by your gift from God. It would be music to my ears. Are you allowed to share your voice in any way?

Feed me. If I cannot hear it, can I hear about it? Can you do what you’ve done already and respond to my childish pleas for love once again? Can you write to me?

I had a deep discussion with my wife and it has left me in a place full of passion. Not because of what she won’t allow me to do, but because of the door she left open. She loves me dearly and wants me to live my life in freedom, as long as I respect our marriage and work within certain boundaries.

My manhood will never feel the glorious warmth of the inside of you but I am allowed to talk about it. I can write erotica and pen wondrous love letters, if even of despair, even though I am not allowed to pursue my insatiable appetite for sex in real life. But this is good. This is OK. I am still alive and so are you. I know because you’ve written. And I am still longing to send you my love, although my heart’s been smitten.

Are you allowed to read and hear my messages in a bottle? Tell me the rules so I won’t break them and lure you into a world of the guilty ones wearing the scarlet letter on their chests. Can you read my erotica? Can you talk about what I’ve written? Your voice is not lost if your love is not lost. I can still hear it in the words you’ve written.

I can hear a longing for a world of passionate love. Yes, we can still feed each other, if we accept our limitations. It goes something like this.

We were given our five senses and maybe six. You can’t speak to me, but can you write to me? Can you listen to me and can you feel me? You can’t smell me but can you take a whiff of a fresh red rose and be reminded of my love for you? I know, it’s complicated, but can you see the trees and the flowers in the fields and smell the freedom of God’s gift to us? You can see me. You can hear me. You can feel me in your heart. Are you allowed to feel me in your private parts too? And if you can feel me, are you allowed to give love back and touch my soul?

Yes, you have already. Yes, you called me your friend. And I felt so good for a second. You wrote back to me and you kept our secret, if only for a minute. You allowed us to see each other again. Love will find a way. If you continue to hear my knock and let me in.

So spend a minute. Tell me the rules. What can you do? What would you be OK with? Are you allowed to write to me? Can we talk about sex in our writing? Is love an allowable topic of discussion? Can you read my love letters and enjoy the feelings I’m trying to portray? Is your moral code allowed to take your imagination away?

But maybe I am better left in a dream, the dream that created you, an infinitely beautiful and seductive goddess. Can you undress for me now and let me gawk at you through a window? Am I allowed to pleasure myself as I look at you dance in the distance? Or are you forced to close the blinds so this peeping tom will never you see again. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I saw the beauty in you. Will you let me see it again?

Or maybe it’s better to sever our ties. Maybe we should never meet online. Maybe the sparks that fly between us would be too great to resist as a fire burns out of control in our hearts. Maybe the only solution is stay apart. If that’s what you want, just tell me. Be honest. Tell me the truth. I’m a big boy. I can take it.

But if we can be friends and stay friends, feed me a little morsel of your love right now. Give me something. Anything. A kind word. A recording. Some outward expression of love and affection, because it is through your love and because of your love my world will be a better place. For I will take anything you give me and cherish it in my heart as we watch it grow into the well of emotion that I’m allowed to express in the erotica I write. And that is how we can both collaborate and procreate.

In any way we can, we should love one another. Writing love letters and sharing them with you is my way of expressing love. My only hope is to be able to pen the right words so you can feel this intense and passionate love meant for you.

What if you shared an inspirational reading instead? Can you record scripture and send it to me?

1 Corinthians 13:4-8 New International Version (NIV)

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.

Where there is a will there is a way. Be creative. Let your juices flow. God has a plan. We will both feel good about it, if it was meant to be.

With undying love,

Mark

Audio: https://soundgasm.net/u/comealot/A-Special-Friend

To My Next Girlfriend

I want you because you know exactly what to say when I need it. You know how to appeal to my sexual senses. You send me pics and audio recordings when I need them. You write erotica to me too. You like to get me off and I like to do it with you. You are a good friend to me. I want to shower you with gifts to show my appreciation. Why wouldn’t I fall head over heels in love with you?

International Date Line (IDL)

The International Date Line (IDL) is an imaginary line of demarcation on the surface of Earth that runs from the North Pole to the South Pole and demarcates the change of one calendar day to the next. It passes through the middle of the Pacific Ocean, roughly following the 180° line of longitude but deviating to pass around some territories and island groups. – Wikipedia

When you travel from American Somoa to Somoa at 12am the day changes from Thursday to Saturday and Friday is lost forever.  You found a time portal where you can travel a short distance to lose a day and when you go back the other way, from Somoa to American Somoa, the opposite happens, you gain a day.

You wake up one morning in a cloudy fog and realize you have awakened from yet another drunken stupor. You remember bits and pieces of a night out on the town at first with your girlfriends and then with a guy you met. You can vaguely remember he was handsome and ripped and there was another peculiar part of him you could barely recall through the haze. You remember your roll in the hay was preceded by a long, eloquent and love infused soliloquy. You remember a cocktail with a pungent taste, but you couldn’t remember if you swallowed it or spit it out.

You also couldn’t recall why he encouraged you to play along while he entertained you with his poetic phrases. You just remember hearing his question as you slowly lost consciousness after imbibing the proverbial one drink too many. Forward or backward? Fast forward or rewind? Pain or Pleasure? If you say forward, you can skip Friday as if it never happened. If you say backward, you can relive Friday all over again.

Not every day of sex is good. Not every day of sex is bad. Today you can trade your worst day for another. This is a tale of two stories. 1) What day would you like to skip? 2) What day would you like to repeat?

After you tell your first story you experience a shocking surprise. The unwanted day will slip slowly away never to darken your doorstep again. Out of sight out of mind. And as you write your second story an ancient time travel phenomenon will unfold right before your eyes, you’ll be gifted with another day of romantic bliss, but only if you reveal your most intimate kinks and triggers, one last time.