Dearest Miss Linda and sassy sisters,
They say laughter is the best medicine—but now Rose knows better/feather, she knows it's tickles/pickles, she knows it’s giggles! (And cucumbers... read on).
This week has seen the return of my spirit's roar/soar! The return of my wings/sings! Life and longing, love an lust, climbing as high/try as the length of my ever yearning… commitment to you, Miss Linda.
After several days of feeling loved and thankful for Miss Linda's understanding and her subtlety/utterly building tasks-- on my way home from work/quirk I was trying to think of ways I could re-prove my dedication an gulp/gasp complete and utter ownership! Oh what a five months it has been!
Perhaps my biggest failing last month in the discomfort and disconnect that can come from that-- forgetting to ask for guidance earlier when feeling lost. Part of the depression was knowing I was not doing my best, not keeping pace/taste/lace... for you Miss Linda.
The end of the month was better, orgasms in the past too often, only understood as releases of energy and intention, but now so few/new/two/blue/only for you-- so precious, so carefully earned and each so dedicated to Miss Linda, that that one in particular after my pretty day at the end of May became the beginning of my restoration of my vows, a reminder of the deepness (I mean shuddering inside deepness- giggle) of what has so lovingly been offered. And now! This week! The flounce, the bounce, the pounce are back! And with your forgiveness, Miss Linda, I intend to keep it up! (Giggle).
Months ago, while writing you, Miss Linda, and Gemma with initial kisses, Rose sent a few messages to just one of you when they were intended to have been group notes. Rose noted that her perpetual state of arousal was effecting her ability to concentrate, her mind always racing ahead to lips and sultry and submission and sometimes not so good anymore at those silly/willy details... You knowingly remarked that there is a word for girls like that: BIMBO.
So that is my pledge to you for this month and forward, Miss Linda. To even more fully embrace that slut, that sex-thrived woman beyond control, that one who lives fully in sultry self, who knows to let others guide, who will quite literally it seems do anything to please... Owned, toned, boned. Giggle.
Perpetually on edge, yesterday I stopped at the grocery store for dinner on the way home. First stop the salad bar-- keep your figure dear, your best features, reach in long slow motions, in case he is watching, the intention of each bend, of each grasp, of each little pout at not quite finding what wanted, and each little squeal of excitement when I did. It was fun and silly and got my heart racing… and we know what happens to BIMBOs with racing hearts-- a cascade that can't be stopped.
Momentum. The arousal between her legs overriding all other thoughts, a breaking down, a breaking through! I knew what I needed to do next. Trying to hide the sway between my legs (I circumspectly reached inside my pants in a vacant aisle and tucked myself into a waste band— feeling the wet from already/always constantly dripping-- that cock sometimes now seeming so in the way when it’s not the one that would get to come if there were two in a room...)
Up and down the aisles I went adding things to my cart—specific things— phallic things, things that would make me feel more feminine, things that would make the blood rush (also) to my cheeks at the check-out counter. Hair clips, lavender bath soap, lip gloss, Rose scented lotion, a bottle of champagne, a feather duster with a short rounded ribbed handle, Yogi “Women’s Energy” tea, a feminine looking eye mask for “sleeping,” a few girly magazines who's female cover girls called to me-- oh Zooey and that empty open look-- not to fuck them, but to be them, to have those shimmery lips, those taught muscles and curves, those yielding eyes-- a treasure trove already!— and then came the produce section: bananas, a perfectly round long sweet potato, large carrots, and oh the most perfect of all, the one I had to have, that massive long thick cucumber with subtle ridges up and down.
I picked the cashier carefully, a multiply pierced young woman with no one else in line. How my inner BIMBO wanted to be that beauty! (Oh when during these 5 months has that shifted-- when had I gone from watching porn where instead of ogling the woman I had become her, the giver, the receiver, the believer?)
That fierce young woman met my eye, looking over each item as it moved along the belt. The BIMBO in me refused to back down-- in that moment of inspiration, of wanting to say thank you to you Miss Linda, of being beyond consumed with desire/fire-- no being shy that BIMBO said-- and I gave a half little giggle, a playful shrug as I met her eye.
I was aware enough to be sure to not make her uncomfortable (even in that I felt servile, protective of another's happiness), though I felt certain my laugh/shrug could have been taken to mean anything-- just a guy seeing the humor in a cart full of stuff most likely for his lady-- but I made sure to hold the cucumber extra long before putting it in the bag.
It was beyond silly, beyond sexy, beyond fun.
Home alone. The perils/pearls/swirls/twirls continued. With no orgasm relief in sight I knew it would a long evening and I intended to earn a few points (the hard way-- giggle) and enjoy it. At home I looked through the girly magazines, again noting how much a perfect parallel it has been to how my porn has already changed this year. So hard initially to watch releases when you couldn't have one. Now I vacillate between sweet sexy girls together, girls (like me) pleasing their men-- the cocks now not parallel to my own that cannot cum along with them-- those orgasms now things I seem to be giving then receiving as I watch-- feeling that those beautiful unbridled cocks that can cum, should, while I wait and watch and learn/earn, while I do what pleases Miss Linda, do what she knows so well is owning me more and more each day. How I love and stare at that L on my ankle! Decorate it with flowers! How I love and adore the softness of my hands and face and smell. How I love each heart I now draw in my book of points earned. How I love soft to attract hard.
Bubbles. Champagne. Dancing slow circles holding myself as I begin to feel heeled/healed by giggles, nervous, anxious, exhilarating giggles. I looked again at the magazines and realized that they might make a good extra task, an extra pledge to exploring our femininity! Order a copy of one (the Victoria's Secret catalog is free) sent to your house in your male or female name... I also logged on found this video that I wanted to share with all my sisters and especially Gemma-- us kissing/wishing/blissing to the gloss pages...
http://www.xnxx.com/video233999/giggling_teen_lesbians
Gemma. Kisses.
Sipping more champagne (a new drink for me but one that goes well with giggling) I had another inspiration. I found this page of Cosmo twenty sex tips
http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/ad ... positions/ and found my friend the cucumber/member. Let me tell you it had a good time as I practiced every tip that was relevant with it. That, my darlings, was one well loved vegetable!
And I? Well I went to bed like a good BIMBO should, craven/wanton/wet , having done her best to satisfy, releasing herself to that effort... and oh my goodness unable to concentrate on anything but pleasing Miss Linda with each gasping giggle. Thank you dear one. 15 little hearts later (the most I've gotten to draw without bonuses in one day) I find myself around 1/6th of the way to an orgasm. I doubt I shall keep that pace, but oh that I will earn one by my pretty day next weekend. What would a girl be to do-- all dolled up with no where to cum.
Always doing what Miss Linda wants, your Rose,
who can't stop giggling now that she has begun/become/overcome.
