One More Night

That night keeps running through my head in flashes. It gives me little shivers, jolts I can't quite handle, causing sharp intakes of breath as I recall in vivid detail the things we did, the things You did to Me.

I want more. More of that.

More of your body, which I can't get enough of - I want to run my hands all over you, just feeling the skin and muscle and heat, feeling all of you alive under my fingertips.

More of your cock, warm in my hands, rubbing gently over my lips, my cheeks, my closed eyelids.

More of your hands, running down my sides, dancing along my back, the feather-light touch making me gasp and arch for you.

More of your fingers, slipping into my slick pussy, the heel of your palm grinding against my clit, your hand laying claim to my wetness, my arousal.

More of your lips, thickly meshing with mine, then lazily meandering down my throat, your tongue wreaking havoc on my self-control as you envelop my neck in wet heat.

I want more of you all the time.

When we're out getting coffee. When we're singing. In your car, going somewhere. Talking (sometimes I stop paying attention to what you're saying, lost in miniature fantasies). Walking down the street, my eyes drinking you in as you make your way ahead of me.

You say I have no shame. I say I can't make myself hold back. I can't. I won't.

I want to turn to you to say something, only to find you looking at me with naked want in your eyes. As we hug hello, murmur into my ear that I look eminently fuckable. Grin at how I involuntarily stiffen at that, my eyes widening slightly. Leave a promise in that grin, a promise to follow through on your words.

Pull me into a kiss that leaves me breathless and biting my lip - you know that look well. Turn me on by words, by your clear intent, by your lips on mine, by your hands winding into my hair, then sharply tugging it back so you can nip at my neck; turn me on steadily, deliberately, painfully; until I beg, shamefacedly inarticulate, cheeks hot with need, for you to take me.

Deny me still, as I squirm and writhe beneath your touch, until, finally, you give me a taste of what I'm craving. Dispense with the preliminaries and just reach for my nipples, tug at them, pinch them until I moan and ask you to fuck me. I will. I'll bite my lip and hiss it, spit it out, mean it with all my soul. Don't listen to me. Instead, hold me down, ignoring my frustrated struggling, and bring your lips to my aching cunt.

The shape of things to come

You've had limited exposure to my proclivities. You haven't had me giggle, grab you by the front of your shirt, and push you up against a wall to take a kiss that's been on my mind, mindless of who's around or what they might think. You haven't had me lead you into a room by the hand, then turn around, put my hands on your shoulders, and lean in to whisper "I want you to fuck me" in your ear with delicious intent. You haven't had me blush furiously as I mouth salacious things at you as you drive, surprised at my own daring. You haven't heard my breath catch as you quietly say something particularly filthy to me in public, in a place where all I can do is look at you with smouldering eyes and look forward to all your words have promised. You haven't had me take your hand and place it on my thigh, an invitation to do as you will. You haven't had me moan into your mouth as we kiss, as your hands explore my body and make me lose track of my thoughts, of everything, reducing me to a trembling bundle of raw lust.

You've got a lot to look forward to.

Possibilities

I want you

I want you so bad

I want you

I want you so bad, it's driving me mad

It's driving me mad

I want you to smile when you see me. To take in the sight of me, bare legs disappearing into ankle-high boots, thighs disappearing under a dress that hugs my curves, my hair spilling down my shoulders, my eyes sparkling to see you.

I want you to hold on just a little bit longer when we hug.

I want you to turn the lights down low, pour me a drink, and put on some good music. Nothing romantic – more...sexy, with rumbling beats and slick bass lines that make me want to undulate against someone. To smile when I raise my eyebrow at your choice of music, our wordless glances conveying the possibilities better than talking ever could.

I want you to watch me as we speak, to let your eyes roam over my body and drink it all in. I want to realise halfway through a sentence that you’re not looking at my face – that you’re focusing instead on my legs, following them up to where they melt into shadows under my dress. I want you to lean forward for a better look as my dress rides up when I settle back into my chair and cross my legs. I want to watch you realise that I’m watching you watching me, this delightful little game of cat-and-mouse making a smile dance at the corners of my lips.

And when I rise to set down my glass and stretch to work my stiff muscles, I want you to come up behind me and let your hand rest casually at my waist right as I’m at the height of my languorous reach for the ceiling. I want you to let your hand drift slowly down and inward to slide along my hip bone as I lean back into you in response, my hand rising to brush yours as I let my head rest lightly against your shoulder. I want to feel your warm breath in my ear, trailing down my neck as you bend to caress the hollow above my collarbone with your lips. I want you to elicit a low, slow sigh from me with that touch. I want you to turn me slowly, firmly so that you can pull me into a kiss that’s been a long time coming – a kiss that promises, in all its fierceness and heat, that there is much, much more to come. I want that kiss to make me moan, involuntarily, into your mouth. I want it to make me give in to you.

I should...

I can still taste the vodka on my breath as I type this. I've spent the last half hour aimlessly driving around town instead of going home because there’s something soothing about speeding down a dark road in a closed metal box while music plays loud enough to drown everything else out, leaving you alone with your thoughts. And there’s something even better about being absorbed in those thoughts as a song winds down, with nothing but the whine of the engine in the background telling you that you’re hurtling through the night.

My thoughts were simple, and focused. On you.

One of these days, I really must put everything aside and act on those thoughts.

As you turn to leave after hugging me goodbye, I should grab your hand and say, “stay”.

As you walk away at the end of the night, I should call out, “come back”.

And instead of saying goodbye and filling the space with silly closing lines, about how nice it was or how I’ll see you soon, I really should just drop the pretence, lose the façade, look you in the eye and say something real. Something that makes you stop thinking for a second, something that makes it real for you too.

And in that moment, while we’re both looking at each other, acknowledging that there’s something here, something between us, I should just fuck all the doubts and the what-ifs and the buts and do what I've wanted to for so long: lean in and kiss you.

How Do I Explain This?

How do I explain this?

I barely know you. Yes, we've traded stories, we grew up in the same city, you went to the all-boys' school across the road from my all-girls' school, and you even know some of the people I knew back then. But those are coincidences, funny isn't-that-cools, conversation fodder that quickly gets chewed through and spit out. I don't know how much there is beneath all of that, below the surface, that could draw us together, that could stick. So yeah, I barely know you.

I barely know you, but you've had your lips on mine, your hands down my panties, your fingers in my hair, your breath in my ear. You have made me moan and gasp and squirm and by all things just and beautiful, you are good. I have sung your praises to my friends, relived the highlights of that night in quiet moments in the days since. I have wanted more since the moment I stepped out of your car and walked back into my house. I have wanted to drink in your lips, those sweet, soft lips of yours - to suck on them and get lost in them the way I did that night - again. Again and again and again. I want to wake up with my own lips feeling tender because you couldn't get enough of them either. Again! I want to spend my time exploring your body, letting my tongue dance across it in that way that you loved, letting sensory perception overwhelm me, carry me away. I want you.

And how do I explain this? I barely know you.

Thanks to you and your expert ministrations, the beast in me has reawakened, and wants to be fed; but I don't want to scare you away with my hunger. Besides which, I want to do this right. So I behave. I tell stories awkwardly, because I'm distracted by your lips or your neck, and I embellish because I'm not really sure what I would say once the story is over and the silence returns, a silence that I only want to break in one way. I act like a blithering idiot when I'm texting you because it is taking every ounce of self-control I have to not send you blistering word-images of my want, of the things I want to do to you and the intensity with which I want to be able to do them. I spout meaningless words because my mind is occupied with the remembered feel of your cock in my hand, delicious anticipation building, and building, and - yes! - building in me.

When I'm talking to you, I cannot string a meaningful sentence together because I want you so. I don't know what you think of me. Somewhere in my head, I hope I haven't been cause for disappointment. I can't help it - you're...distracting, to say the least.

I cannot tell you this because...dammit, I barely know you.

Revelations

Things I've discovered in the past couple of days:
- Drinking gives me insomnia. It all fits together now - the nights of drinking, followed by the long periods spent awake, unable to sleep. Don't know why I didn't see this before.
- I don't like my breasts. They appear to be sagging, and I feel that they're old. Not young and perky. I need someone to tell me that they are beautiful. I need a man to tell me, in all sincerity, that I'm beautiful.
- I'm looking for companionship. Simple, uncomplicated companionship. The realisation that I wouldn't mind dating K-Far comes from the understanding of this simple desire.
- Pervy gets a lot of action, but I don't (think I) resent her for it.
- I really wanted to sing and perform a lot this year. I still do. I have to find ways to do that.
- I really want to lose weight now, if only to be perceived as more attractive. One part of it is carrying yourself like you know you're sexy (I can manage that bit just fine), and the other part is being undeniably sexy (I need to work on that).