Sunday, July 15, 2007

hey pretty

I slip into romance novels like motel rooms. I cheat on my intellect with these flashy tickets out of reality. I come once, twice, three times. Yet, its not enough. The clenching, tensing, gushing is nothing compared to the real thing. The feel of flesh on mine, flesh not skin. Flesh sounds more carnal, its more than a handshake or a hug. Flesh is you against me top to toe separated by only the slip of sweat. Me, spine curved atop my comforter, hand between legs, that is snacking when I need a meal.

My newly minted gym rat status has brought libido along with muscle. At this particular gym there is little eye candy beyond the TV screens, but there is one exception.

I rythmically pull at the machine, 1, 2, hearing him grunt as he counts his own. My eyes shut and I imagine myself on my knees in front of him, giving him whole new reasons to grunt. 5, his hands in my hair, 6 tasting the salty tip of him, 7 dragging my nails down those carved thighs. I snap open my eyes. I’ve got to stop this or I’ll be thrown out of here for pulling down his shorts and getting a taste. Another groan from him. Fuck he’s got to stop that or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.


BobsWorld said...

Your blogs are tremendous and Im hard for you

max said...

i know the feeling, the grunts i make and she hears, and then her rhythmic exhalations as we move from machine to machine feels like our syncopated thrusting, which it is, but not the mutual thrusting that i desire.