He always calls when he says he's going to. He shows up,
unannounced; Mr. Spontaneous.
I like that.
And I like the way his full lips and moist tongue taunt my yearning mouth.
His warm hands, not much bigger than my own, caressing my sides, pulling me close,
making me feel wanted.
There's a mysteriousness in his eyes, a devilish grin sweeping his face. He makes me want him. He knows just how far
to push, to tease, until I'm climbing the walls begging for him. I think he likes that. He likes
to be in control, to feel power over me. To have me submissive, on my knees, catering to his every whim.
He stands to redress; white briefs, dark blue jeans, black belt, white socks, polo shirt, baseball cap. His glasses typically
left on the end table. I lay exhausted, happy, glowing, yet missing something.
I could live forever like this, I think to myself. If just once,I could see a tenderness within him. A break in the game, some feeling
deeper than the passionate moment.
Slipping on a robe, I follow him to the door. He leans in, kisses me softly.
"I'll call you tomorrow."
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