Memoir in Frequencies
The Sunlit Spell: “I’ve Never Done This Before…”
There you were—
Saturday-soft, coffee-warm, hair still messy from the night before.
We wandered the farmers market like it was foreplay.
Bought soup, soap, and time we didn’t mean to waste.
You said “Come over, we’ll make something”—
but we both knew something else was already rising.
Back at your place,
you set the dough like a spell.
Sauce on your fingers, flour in your hair,
laughing as you pressed it flat.
We put the pizza in the oven
like we were promising to be patient.
But patience isn’t my craft.
And you—
you were already giving me the look
that ruins restraint.
The door was closed.
The light was golden.
And the silence between timer beeps
was just enough space for your knees to find the kitchen tile.
You looked up at me like you wanted to teach me something.
Like you’d been waiting to.
So I whispered it—
shy, trembling, low.
“I’ve never done this before…”
“I don’t really know what I’m doing…”
You smiled like sin wrapped in innocence.
And you believed me.
Or maybe you didn’t.
Maybe you just wanted it to be true.
Your hands undid me,
your mouth opened like a prayer,
and I moaned like it was my first time.
Not because I was pretending—
but because I let my voice become the illusion.
Let every sound drip with inexperience,
until your body took over the lesson.
The sunlight poured through the window,
spilled across your shoulders,
warmed the floor like holy fire.
You looked angelic—
mouth full,
eyes wild,
knees aching,
waiting for the pizza to finish
while you gave me something so much sweeter.
And when I gasped—
“It’s so warm… is it always like this?”
“You feel too good—I don’t know if I can take it all…”
You moaned for me.
Because that’s what good voicework does.
It moans back.
It wraps around the scene like silk and doesn’t let go.
🎙 Frequency Trick: “The Virgin Moan”
How to make her body believe it's your first time:
Drop your pitch by half a breath
Let the word fuck crack at the end like a secret
Hold her gaze just one second longer than comfort allows
Smile like you’re grateful, not greedy
That’s how you take the everyday—
pizza, kitchens, sunlight—
and alchemize it into sacred sex.
So if you’re ever making dinner again,
flour on your cheeks,
waiting for the oven to sing—
remember this:
There was a man who moaned for you
before the lights dimmed,
before the bed was touched,
before the pizza even finished.
Because some spells rise slowly.
But once they’re hot enough—
they consume.