After six months as a celibate in London, my passion for you cannot be quantified. As I lie on my bed in my lonely flat, I brood over why I left you behind. Emails and telephone calls cannot compensate for your kiss or your touch.

Sure, there has been temptation. Men and women have expressed interest in me, but my loyalty and love for you is much greater than anything they can offer. I have only you in my heart and memories are all I have.

I reminisce how we would lie together in my apartment or yours, wasting the day away, how we would embrace as lovers. Our love for one another would lead to and unbridled passion that heated our loins. We would tenderly taste each other’s nectar as we make love endlessly. Your touch on my skin sets off a flame in me that cannot be rivaled and joyous rapture ensues as my flesh tingles from your caresses.

My moans and screams are real as you amuse yourself with me and I am sure that you do so for my benefit. I give you all that I can give and you are rewarded with the fruits of my labor. Your moans and gasps are my incentives to give you more love.

The taste of you’re mouth is sweet as we kiss deeply. Your nipples are like diamonds as I twirl my tongue around them. The earthy scent of your mound is delightful as I take you to my mouth and taste you. Alas, these are all but memories.

I lie here thinking of our lovemaking and my hands travel to my loins, I bring myself to orgasm as I do every night to the thought of you being with me. I think of my hand as being yours as you tease my folds and caress my bud. I let my fingers enter myself as you have done this to me every time we made love. I lick my nipples and imagine that it is your tongue on me. My wetness I give to you, but now I only give to myself.

I will be with you soon, my love, but not soon enough. Until then, I cherish the thought of our reunion sometime soon.