Tonight I'm having a small night cap, and with every drink I find myself dreaming about him more. He is so sexy. So exciting. Sip. I remember every one of our encounters together. The way his kisses make my heart pound. The feel of his hands running up my leg, over my hip, and across my belly. Nobody touches me like he does. Nobody ever could. Sip. When he touches my skin, he touches my heart. I wonder if he knows that? Sip.
When I first met him, he was a scrawny little 13-year-old boy. His hair was too long and so cute in its disarray. Nearly every one of his shirts looked exactly like the others--they all had the same design to them. He had the most distinctive shuffle. Sip. Shoulders a little hunched from all the time at his computer, he always does a little hop before he starts walking. If he were only a silhouette, I would always know it was him. He is that special to me.
Now, he's certainly changed in looks. He has grown, and filled out. My gosh is he sexy! Sip. His hands are strong and sure where they were once hesitant. His lips find all the most sensitive and excitable places of my flesh. He is incredible. Sip. Everything that I dreamed of him being all those years we were apart.
The most amazing thing to me is what the thought of him does to me. He makes me so excited, makes me feel so sexy, just thinking about the way he touches me drives me wild. I long to be closer to him so I can show him how sexy I think he is. I want to make him feel as turned on as he makes me feel. The thought of getting him this worked up...I actually enjoy that more than being turned on myself. How strange is that? :)
I finish my nightcap and head off to bed, certain my dreams will be good.
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