It’s the sound of his voice, the way he says “Hey Baby” in between puffs of smoke he’s stopped trying to hide that send my heart stumbling over its beats. I see his name and it lights up my world. If I hear songs that remind me of him, I can’t help but to smile like a fool no matter where I am; I get so much male attention when I’m thinking of him. I remember those hands; strong, sturdy, and calloused things that knew exactly how to hold me; the memory of his fingers traversing the contours of my calves and grabbing my ankles. He is so gentle and one of the strongest men I know. It’s as if he was created with the knowledge ingrained in him- I want him lying next to me- and he cat and mouse’s with this wisdom to draw out my smiles. I want his body pressed against mine, his chest to my back, his arms cradling me, his lips hovering mere inches above my ear, driving sweet and dirty thoughts straight into my heart. I blossom like roses in June in his presence.
I’m not ready for him; not ready for any relationship no matter how fleeting or casual and yet… and yet… and yet. And yet I’ll come to him. He’ll call and I’ll come. The world will slip away, vignette our chemistry, and we’ll belong to each other for these fleeting moments. Dawn will surely cast a harsh light upon all this nocturnal romance at some point. In the meantime, I’m torn between either prolonging what we have or delivering a swift coup de grace sure to save us both the torments of reality…. And yet… and yet… and yet…. I’ll come. He calls and I come.