A monk and his love

A letter to my lover 9.

My dearest and beloved Yeshe

You yeti of love. I thought that the poppy field was a simple dream, fleeting, when I woke up in your arms in the squalid room. I was hoping that we didn't have to beg because of the humiliation of the names they call me. But fortunately we had to practice calligraphy even though we were in a strange land. I smiled because you are a great distraction while I practice. And you didn't disappoint. As we sat to practice you put your hand down my robes and touched my womanhood. Stroking, thumbing, playing and petting my womanhood. Oh the pleasure. Soon I was soaked down there but I tried tried to write a poem. I put the brush down and kissed you slowly. We ended up coupling. I guess the calligraphy was over for now. I opened my legs to let you enter me. I could feel your length slide into my wetness and I groaned with pleasure. You pressed your boney hips against mine and we kissed and rolled into climax. We both climaxed at the same time. You saw a tear on my cheek and gently kissed the tear with your lips. And soon enough you coupled with me from behind and I held your face against mine while you rhythmical coupled me. When we were done you left to do some begging. Thank heavens you did ask to come along. I busied my self with calligraphy and reading ancient teachings to pass the time. I was overjoyed when I saw you come into the door with a months worth of food and money. I hugged you and kissed your third eye.