Lit Love Letters

[angelofthenorth]

My Fairest and Most Singular Damosel,
She whom my heart, nay my very sinews, do secretly obey,

Pray forgive the trembling of mine hand, for it knoweth not how to be still when I take quill to parchment and think upon thee. In sooth, thou art that special girl—the one whose name I dare not speak too loudly, lest the very air grow jealous for longing of thee.

When thou dost pass by, methinks the sun itself tilteth his golden face to better behold thee. And though I strive to stand as a modest gentleman, my thoughts do oft wander… aye, and sometimes stray into corners where shadows grow warm. Yet fear not—my intentions are ever noble, though they creak under the weight of unspoken hopes.

Thy smile, sweet maid, doth stir me more than a knight’s trumpet at dawn; and when thou dost lay thine eyes upon me, I confess mine own resolve doth rise to meet the moment, though I strive to keep it courtly.

Would that I could walk beside thee beneath the budding boughs, and share a word or two—mayhap three—of gentle discourse. And perchance, in time, shouldst thou permit, we might explore the richer meanings hidden betwixt such words, where language groweth soft and full of pleasant mischief.

Until that blessed hour, I remain—
Thine in quiet yearning and most respectful admiration,

Thy Devoted Servant of Heart and Fancy

thy's a honey dripper...tis a lucky maiden indeed to receive such tender words

 

[snexxer]

thy's a honey dripper...tis a lucky maiden indeed to receive such tender words

Aw shucks.

 

[MiaBabe23]

If I could, I would place such a lingering kiss on your lips that it would seep to your soul, drench you with the full depths of my ardor, leave you for days dazed and unable to remember how it is for our lips not to have touched

 

[OldDirtyAltGuy]

To my lady of the heavens,

Mine heart aches for thy love. Tis true. This heart is shattered and torn for thou lovest another. Yet, mine hope is that thou wilst see that this peasant cannot live without thy touch.

Thy devoted peasant alt.

 

[MissMarie32]

Sir

Please I beg of you to take me in your arms, your chiseled body like that of a god. Thrust into me at your pleasure and I will be yours forever

Your slave
Marie

 

[DirtyBamaDaddy69]

Sir

Please I beg of you to take me in your arms, your chiseled body like that of a god. Thrust into me at your pleasure and I will be yours forever

Your slave
Marie

DAMN!!!

 

[Vitriolhack]

Sir

Please I beg of you to take me in your arms, your chiseled body like that of a god. Thrust into me at your pleasure and I will be yours forever

Your slave
Marie

The signature really seals the letter!

 

[angelofthenorth]

To thee
My deepest, darkest, desire owt thou, know that thou art in thought every hour ,waking and sleeping. Thine eyes upon me, thy lips to treasure. Sweetest breath to dream upon. Each gaze a longing wish, a brush of thy lips a dizzying wine.
I remain the ink to thy quill

 

[angelofthenorth]

To the one
Thou hast longing in thy lips and fire in thy viens. I have a body for sin and can match thee in love, lust and desire. I be thine to compliment and complete. When thy is fresh from the field of battle all muck and muscle. Bruised and blooded, My arms await. When thy hath defended and fought wth thy brothers in arms. But it thy woman that will tend they wounds, and feed thy soul. Take nurishment and heal. Thy honour intact.

What could a woman not achieve if she could command the love of such a man

 

[GetNerdy]

Dearest name goes here,

How I yearn still for your touch and your discarded bodice upon my chamber floor. Let us make the maids blush with our frivolity which may get us refused entry to the kingdom of heaven. You leave me unable to think even of my Steam wishlist.

I care not that the local naysayers have dubbed your existence Fraudulent News! I have sent my spies to all corners of the globe except the politics forum.

According to the fortune teller (shortly before they sadly accidentally fell into the threshing machine), you shall make yourself known behind Target at 9p on Friday, yet I know not which one. I shall spare no expense to find you and hold you close to me, and breathe in your fair scent which I imagine to be a little like roasted boar.

Forsooth,
Sir GetNerdy of Somewhere

 

[MiaBabe23]

Dear - You know who you are,
I’m exerting great self control, to not lay bare here the yearning I feel for your words, your voice, your being - trying not to speak of the v

 

[angelofthenorth]

oh thou, my quill companion,
Even as the clouds gather, know now thy worth in my heart. Thy words I long for. Doubt not my constancy, my devotion. Doubt ever knaws at the edges, but thou art strong. Believe, trust, that after the rain the sun shines.
I remain the ink to thy quill

 

[MrPimms]

This is a fun thread! My contribution to the shenanigans of verbiage


My Dearest Rumpy,

I have often asked how I became to be so worthy of your fair hands. While ‘tis true that your hands are as smooth as the freshest rasp tooled by the blacksmith, that is their attractiveness. Your hands have shaped wood, smoothed the grain of those shafts that you grip so firm, equally they have scrubbed the stains from many a bed sheet. Your skills with a bar of soap outweigh the most talented scullery maid. I swear by all that is holy, watching you wield the washboard should cast the sight from any innocent man.

No maid has ever got my sheets as clean as you, fair Rumpy. Those sacred bed linens are the collecting ground for my seed, faint circular stains are banished. I often wonder if your mind wanders to the shakings of my hand that produces plentiful deposits from my fleshy wand; casting life upon the sheet as though I were some magic man desperate in his attempts to bestow life upon the lifeless linens. I think of you during those furious and florid handshakes with myself; you, your hands and a good lather, it brings me to such a state of pleasure.

I know that in some distant time, your hands will be replaced by a machine. Your vigour will never cease to amaze me. How I wish you would beat my meat washboard with such zeal. I would languish in bliss with my lather being cast upon your hands.

I fear I must attend to urgent matters, holding this pen in such a manner that I cannot help but be reminded of something. I long to take this pen with an assured grip, commit to paper the words that command your attention, watching the ink flow from my nib and it staying on the paper in that delicious form that is sleek, wet, before it sinks into the page as that cream, silken paper submits to the will of the ink.

Your rump, dearest Rumpy, deserves to adorned with the finest inks.