… that didn’t quite make it:

A rabbi, priest, and imam were arguing about their favorite
phone sex Flirt. The only thing they could agree on was that
Angela St. Lawrence is the best Flirt around.

Not only in the naughtiest, fun sense of the word, but also in the most
uplifting and heavenly.

Thank you, Angela! You have brought
this planet one step closer to world peace!

From Mr. B who always lifts me up, even when I’m putting him down, down, down.  Apparently there were space and editing issues, but he still made a point of emailing an apology with this, his original intent.

Pay attention, because maybe then … you too can learn to be a stellar slave by observing Mr. B’s outstanding example.

🙂   🙂   🙂

xo, Angela

Peace
by Ted Berrigan

What to do
when the days’ heavy heart
having risen, late
is the already darkening East
& prepared at any moment, to sink
into the West
surprises suddenly,
& settles, for a time,
at a lovely place
where mellow light spreads
evenly
from face to face?
The days’ usual aggressive
contrary beat
now softly dropped
into a regular pace
the head riding gently its personal place
where pistons feel like legs
on feelings met like lace.
Why,
take a walk, then,
across this town. It’s a pleasure
to meet one certain person you’ve been counting on
to take your measure
who will smile, & love you, sweetly, at your leisure.
And if
she turns your head around
like any other man,
go home
and make yourself a sandwich
of toasted bread, & ham
with butter
lots of it
& have a diet cola,
& sit down
& write this,
because you can.

______________________________

Thank you Mr. J. (my beautiful lover and writer of poetry) for sending me this beautiful poem.   It is all that I would wish for in my perfect day from dawn to dusk.

And thank you, Mr. Berrigan.

♪ ♫ ♬♪ ♫ ♬♪ ♫ ♬

Just a few golden notes (from emails and conversations):

• I’m in an impossibly dull and useless conference call–I had far more stimulation hooded, bound, and alone.  (after an “isolation” session)
• It just makes me hotter to hear you giggle when I moan in discomfort. (denial & CBT … delicious)
• The first time we spoke, it was love at first kink. (kink-a-dink-a-do, baby cakes)
• Would you really make me masturbate in front of your girlfriends? (not ten of them … but perhaps a few)
• You’re a Man Eater! (anybody have a toothpick?)
• You’re the only woman I’d kneel for. (and he does it often)
• Did you tell your girlfriends that you spoil me? Or that I am enthralled? (and he’s hasn’t cum in a month … oh my)
• I am supposed to be working, but can only think about that leather outfit. (from my leather freak, of course)
• Did I really eat my own cum for you? Disgusting! (but I bet he’ll be back for breakfast)
• I am so nervous that I can’t call. (he did and now he’s mine)
• You get wet when I wear panties for you.  Admit it.  (ahh … the eternally hopeful slut)
• You aren’t just a sexy voice and sexy mind crafting sexy words, you are truly a wonderful person. (sweet boy)
• Yes, I’ll use any pretense I can think of to reach out to you. (I own you *licking lips* yum)
• I went to sleep with you on my mind, which is pretty much where you had been all day. (soon-to-be-knighted Romantic Savant)
• I’m serious about meeting you. Name the place and time and I’ll be there (thanks, but no thanks)
• I’m still trembling three hours later. (carry on, sweet pea)
• How vile I am. (he makes my mouth water)
• Cumming in a corner with my pants around me ankles? Damn, Girl! (don’t forget the lesbian action behind you)
• That countdown was brutal. (❤❤❤)
• I was fucking my girlfriend and all I could do was think about you and the things you made me do. (mission accomplished)

… and the beat goes on.  The beat goes on.

Tra la la.

xo, Angela

2:30 and I can’t sleep, preoccupied with thoughts of you. I want to feel you against me, our legs entwined, my hands cupping your breasts, moving down over your stomach. I want the warmth between your legs, I want all of you.

Miss Angela,

I sit with this email account and your twitter feed open, slavishly hoping to see a (1) pop up next to either of them. The email is the crueler of the two, alerting me with petty things that I could care less about. Every time it comes up, I rush to see if it is you and my heart aches when it is not.

It’s as if I’m searching in the dark, hoping for a ray of light…a taste of your attention. When I get it, I exult. When denied the void engulfs me.

Yours, Scunt