I woke up in the middle of the night. It was so hot in my room, the covers had long been kicked to the side, pj bottoms in a ball at the foot of the bed.

I crack the window.
Everything is hot.
My mind, my pussy. I feel like I have a fever, and in fact I do. A fever of the pussy. I wake up with words and ideas swimming, I grab the blackberry, hit the “voice notes” as to not forget, what I think–are great ideas at the time.

I need to open the window, I am so hot.
I feel the rain, hear it coming down, the air filters in.
The curtains billow consistent. Why I am keeping track, I don’t know, but today will be the eleventh day of continuous rain.

I record my thoughts, I repeat them, I am hot, my pussy is so hot. I slide my fingers between the heat of my two lips. Slick. Wet. Fever pussy.
Lifting my tank top over my head–I toss it to the ground, I turn the pillow over to the cool side, I am laying in panties–enjoying feeling the air blowing  on my body. My fingers continue their exploration of flesh. Thirsty. Want cock. Hot.

I listen to the recoding the next morning, it is nearly inaudible, though I sound asleep, I also sound like I am in serious need of a fuck, right then, not by my fingers, but by yours. I wanted to wake up in that heat–my brain boiling and my pussy on fire and make you hard, hard like only I can hard, then slow fuck you, me on top riding and grinding into what is mine. I sound dark, somewhat guttural, if it is possible to sound voluptuous–I think I did. The voice was needy, an insatiable cunt all the way. It was me, but not me.

It is always strange to hear your own voice. The last time I made a clip for someone, they wanted to to hear me, talk to them in my filthy ways. This proved to be difficult, because while I am in the moment with you, I feel it, I feel you filling me and the filth can easily flow from my mouth, but alone–I am more of moaner, a growler, and the occasional girl grunt will slip out (especially if I cum while I have a finger or toy in my tightest space). Even with a special someone the moment must really–take me– to have beautiful smut words spill past my lips. You have to be really letting me use your cock, your super hard cock. Yes? Yes, the thought of it puts a big smile on my face.

Phone sex is another vocal act, that I participate in, but it’s awkward. Though, it works. There has only been one lately, but he does call from a very long distance, across the oceans, to hear me cum. Long before the husband and I, knew we even wanted to be such, we parted ways, but had phone sexed constantly. I can still see it, from the phone hanging on the kitchen wall, I would plant my ass on the washer, bring my knees up and spread my thighs wide and we would fuck until the sunlight would spread into that city valley. He liked to hear about his own cock, he was a megalomaniac about his own dick. He wanted to hear what I was going to do with his beautiful trunk.

Where is this leading to? Two things; this morning I woke up and of course wanted a cock in my mouth. I want to take some snapshots with cock in my mouth, I want some live footage of cock between my lips. I want to hear what I sound like performing the act I love. So…I ordered a flip cam this morning! Woo Hoo! Anyone care to join me in my first filmed sex act, okay second–but that first one didn’t count.? I need a beautiful made for film dick, auditions will be held this Sunday and I like my cock solid.

Secondly; I have these fleeting notions, of doing live readings. I have participated a few times in poetry readings, but never anything longer. I want to hear myself talk about sex. Can I do it? Can I stand in front of people and talk about my sex, about my love and need of cock? Could I record it and stand hearing myself played back? Can I stand the sound of my own voice? There is a reading tonight, maybe just maybe I will get the nerve to do it, with recorder in tow.

Call me sometime.