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Moochie’s Meandering Missives (and a pic or two)

Is this what we’ve become?
Melted in a pot of pulled petals
With the needles, thorns pointing,
Sharp into substantial flesh
And out again
Like a sigh of relief felt finally
When the handle of a door moves?

Too long in the past now...
Can barely feel the way your pulse is in my hand
Can hardly hear the way your heart beats next to mine
Can only just see the way your eyes feel on my nakedness
Can almost taste the way your lips move on mine
Can’t understand the way I am still stinging with tears like this.

I am not a badass bitch
I am not a girl who can do this
I am just trying
To hold all the crumbling pieces of the inside me,
The one that never sees light brighter than a candle,
From slipping through my sieve of fingers
As they fall.

Image removed 3/14/22
 
Last edited:
Moochienanu said:
Is this what we’ve become?
Melted in a pot of pulled petals
With the needles, thorns pointing,
Sharp into substantial flesh
And out again
Like a sigh of relief felt finally
When the handle of a door moves?

Too long in the past now...
Can barely feel the way your pulse is in my hand
Can hardly hear the way your heart beats next to mine
Can only just see the way your eyes feel on my nakedness
Can almost taste the way your lips move on mine
Can’t understand the way I am still stinging with tears like this.

I am not a badass bitch
I am not a girl who can do this
I am just trying
To hold all the crumbling pieces of the inside me,
The one that never sees light brighter than a candle,
From slipping through my sieve of fingers
As they fall.

https://forum.literotica.com/attachment.php?attachmentid=2111286&stc=1&d=1610136149
Click to expand...

Always hard to put words to past love. You never forget, just learn to compartmentalise for future reference.

Love the knotty flower.
 
Sometimes, even mustering the strength to just try to hold all the crumbling pieces is pretty damn badass. 💜
 
Knotted in a corner you may seem,
Yet you find a way to pick yourself up,
Barely meeting ends it may seem,
Yet you find ways to cheer yourself up,
Crumbling to pieces it may seem,
Yet like glue you are the one holding it together.

:rose:
 
Sexy pesto in 2021

I threw the last handful of the basil into the blender and hit the pulse button, holding the top on and feeling the machine vibrate through my limb and into my core. Thinking about what would happen if you were here now, the way you would watch me close my eyes and wonder what I was thinking of. How you see me, can know just by the sight of my closed eyes for longer than the split second needed for a blink, but the slow blink that happens when I imagine your fingertips brushing the stray hair in my face away.

I take my finger off the blender power and remove the canister from the base, pouring the fresh pesto over the pasta I had warm on the stove. Homemade too, with a big, decadent duck egg plucked from the yard. The hand-cut fettuccine pieces twisting in the green, herbaceous sauce. It smelled good, but I wanted to smell you, and not all this garlic. I wanted you here.

I poured the pasta into two containers: one large for work meals, and one small for tonight. Fuck, I miss the way you would wrap your arms around me from behind. How I could press my body back against you, stretch out long beside you, and feel your front against my back. I could feel as you, always hard or getting there when that close to my bottom and the thought of it, would press against the small of my back, top of my crack. I sighed and let the thought sink.

Opening my eyes again, I put the big container in the fridge and take the little one. I know it’s sacrilege, but I put some fresh ground Parmesan on it. You can hate me for my love of cheese, I’m okay with that. I smile and walk to the couch, balancing my second glass of wine, my teddy Manni, and my pasta.

I turn on Netflix and decide to watch Bridgerton again while I colour and eat. I set Manni next to me on the couch and place the plate on the coffee table. I take a sip of my wine; fruity, vibrant, bright. It doesn’t “go” with the pesto, but who the fuck cares anymore? I think about the guy at the liquor store not asking for a closer look at my ID. He said he saw the “19” at the beginning of my birth year and that was enough. I had cried after that. Silly, I know, but I feel older this year because of having to be so grown up with my feelings.

I take a bite of the pasta and close my eyes as I let the thought of you telling me all that basil would make a sexy pesto.

Yeah, this is sexy pesto.

Image removed 3/14/22
 
Last edited:
Moochienanu said:
I threw the last handful of the basil into the blender and hit the pulse button, holding the top on and feeling the machine vibrate through my limb and into my core. Thinking about what would happen if you were here now, the way you would watch me close my eyes and wonder what I was thinking of. How you see me, can know just by the sight of my closed eyes for longer than the split second needed for a blink, but the slow blink that happens when I imagine your fingertips brushing the stray hair in my face away.

I take my finger off the blender power and remove the canister from the base, pouring the fresh pesto over the pasta I had warm on the stove. Homemade too, with a big, decadent duck egg plucked from the yard. The hand-cut fettuccine pieces twisting in the green, herbaceous sauce. It smelled good, but I wanted to smell you, and not all this garlic. I wanted you here.

I poured the pasta into two containers: one large for work meals, and one small for tonight. Fuck, I miss the way you would wrap your arms around me from behind. How I could press my body back against you, stretch out long beside you, and feel your front against my back. I could feel as you, always hard or getting there when that close to my bottom and the thought of it, would press against the small of my back, top of my crack. I sighed and let the thought sink.

Opening my eyes again, I put the big container in the fridge and take the little one. I know it’s sacrilege, but I put some fresh ground Parmesan on it. You can hate me for my love of cheese, I’m okay with that. I smile and walk to the couch, balancing my second glass of wine, my teddy Manni, and my pasta.

I turn on Netflix and decide to watch Bridgerton again while I colour and eat. I set Manni next to me on the couch and place the plate on the coffee table. I take a sip of my wine; fruity, vibrant, bright. It doesn’t “go” with the pesto, but who the fuck cares anymore? I think about the guy at the liquor store not asking for a closer look at my ID. He said he saw the “19” at the beginning of my birth year and that was enough. I had cried after that. Silly, I know, but I feel older this year because of having to be so grown up with my feelings.

I take a bite of the pasta and close my eyes as I let the thought of you telling me all that basil would make a sexy pesto.

Yeah, this is sexy pesto.

attachment.php
Click to expand...

Nice.
 
Moochienanu said:
Is this what we’ve become?
Melted in a pot of pulled petals
With the needles, thorns pointing,
Sharp into substantial flesh
And out again
Like a sigh of relief felt finally
When the handle of a door moves?

Too long in the past now...
Can barely feel the way your pulse is in my hand
Can hardly hear the way your heart beats next to mine
Can only just see the way your eyes feel on my nakedness
Can almost taste the way your lips move on mine
Can’t understand the way I am still stinging with tears like this.

I am not a badass bitch
I am not a girl who can do this
I am just trying
To hold all the crumbling pieces of the inside me,
The one that never sees light brighter than a candle,
From slipping through my sieve of fingers
As they fall.

attachment.php
Click to expand...

(Define "badass". Nope, wromg.)

I'm gonna get technical a bit: Is the central knot developed out of a coin knot? Japanese Square knot?
 
You don’t have to be grown up all the time, let Manni take you back into Littledom as and when needed.
 
Moochienanu said:
I threw the last handful of the basil into the blender and hit the pulse button, holding the top on and feeling the machine vibrate through my limb and into my core. Thinking about what would happen if you were here now, the way you would watch me close my eyes and wonder what I was thinking of. How you see me, can know just by the sight of my closed eyes for longer than the split second needed for a blink, but the slow blink that happens when I imagine your fingertips brushing the stray hair in my face away.

I take my finger off the blender power and remove the canister from the base, pouring the fresh pesto over the pasta I had warm on the stove. Homemade too, with a big, decadent duck egg plucked from the yard. The hand-cut fettuccine pieces twisting in the green, herbaceous sauce. It smelled good, but I wanted to smell you, and not all this garlic. I wanted you here.

I poured the pasta into two containers: one large for work meals, and one small for tonight. Fuck, I miss the way you would wrap your arms around me from behind. How I could press my body back against you, stretch out long beside you, and feel your front against my back. I could feel as you, always hard or getting there when that close to my bottom and the thought of it, would press against the small of my back, top of my crack. I sighed and let the thought sink.

Opening my eyes again, I put the big container in the fridge and take the little one. I know it’s sacrilege, but I put some fresh ground Parmesan on it. You can hate me for my love of cheese, I’m okay with that. I smile and walk to the couch, balancing my second glass of wine, my teddy Manni, and my pasta.

I turn on Netflix and decide to watch Bridgerton again while I colour and eat. I set Manni next to me on the couch and place the plate on the coffee table. I take a sip of my wine; fruity, vibrant, bright. It doesn’t “go” with the pesto, but who the fuck cares anymore? I think about the guy at the liquor store not asking for a closer look at my ID. He said he saw the “19” at the beginning of my birth year and that was enough. I had cried after that. Silly, I know, but I feel older this year because of having to be so grown up with my feelings.

I take a bite of the pasta and close my eyes as I let the thought of you telling me all that basil would make a sexy pesto.

Yeah, this is sexy pesto.

attachment.php
Click to expand...


You had me at... All of this.
 
TANSTAAFL58 said:
I'm gonna get technical a bit: Is the central knot developed out of a coin knot? Japanese Square knot?
Click to expand...

It is even more simple: an infinity weave harness and then I took the two top ends and went around either way in circle with the two ends. I fluffed a bit to make it look more floral. Made the whole thing up. Still working on making it better.
 
I have decided I’m going to fuck myself in the ass with my dildo today.

*wiggle*

That is all.
 
That answer... is not so easy.

It was in passing the other day
When I hinted that I was thinking my childhood was not very normal...
And what you said to me...
I keep rolling it about in my head
Because I know it’s true.
 
Should start a new page with some kind of amateur picture, right?

Image removed 3/14/22
 
Last edited:
The question shall always remain until we are gone.


And
Thank you
I thought Manni looked pretty good here
Also my nipple
 
I live between
And I don’t.

I want to feel each word
Wash over me
When I click and open
And feel you

I savor each
Until the end
Like a child
Licking the tootsieroll
After the hard candy has disintegrated:

Reading
Licking
Over again
For what lays
At the center.
 
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