it's been awhile since i've been here.

an eternity even.

but the wooden seat remembers the curve of my ass, and i slide into my perch atop the stairs.

you move about below me, like an echo. somehow less than a memory yet more potent than a dream. 

i watch you circle your territory with back straight, chest taught, brown hair brushing brown eyes.

i can feel those eyes on me now, pupils tightening, focus; hard.

as hard as i imagine your arms would be as they lifted me up from this chair. 

leading me who knows where?

but i am imagining, and for all i know you're looking at the painting on the wall to the left of my head, or that the dim lighting forces your steely squint. because really, i want you to be looking my way.

because really, i just want.

i must be ovulating.

here i am, at crunch time, up against a wall, staring down the barrel of a gun.
and all i can think about is you.

well not you, exactly.
or...
well yes, it is you in these daydreams, you're there and you're lovely as ever, but what i'm thinking about is not so much about you as it is about fucking you.

about the way you feel and the way you taste, and how you like to taste me.

or about the force of your thrusts, and the way i have to brace myself or risk acquiring another tell-tale bruise.

and while i think these thoughts of you, and those things we do when we find ourselves alone,
my fingers take your place.

and as i return to the grind, i'm left with more thoughts, and the faintest scent on my hand as it types.

the way your hand rested on my hip was exactly right; firm and with intent. assured. and that turned me on. then your lips were on mine for just a moment. soft and fuller than expected, tasting of alcohol and nicotine, leaving me wanting. there was promise in that kiss, a hint of what might be. not of tomorrows or yesterdays or confusing in-betweens but of passion and the fire it brings.

and i wanted more of those kisses. i wanted to hold you down and nibble your perfect lips, to lick and suck, touch and...

i still want you, but time and distance had their way and now is not to be. tomorrow is unknown but full of possibility. i think of this as i fall asleep to thoughts of you and your lips, and your hand on my hip. as mine travels to where yours should be.

such sweet fucking dreams.

we met, finally. well kind of anyway...

in my dream last night you had a starring role, and boy, did you play it well. artistically it was closer to the work of seymore butts, than that of philip seymour hoffman, but i'd give you an award.

any award you want.

desire. lust. yearning.

these words and their meaning have been on my mind a lot in the last few weeks. i get excited by the promise they hold and often find myself surprised when under their spell. now that i've taken the time to consider the nature of attraction i am trying to figure out why i overlooked it before.

i mean seriously, is it not the best characteristic of sex?

desire is to great sex as gas is to running a car. without one you really can't have the other. i'm not saying you can't have sex without desire, but ask yourself - is that the kind of sex you want to be having?

i think my favourite thing about lust and attraction is how it lives in the small moments; the catch and hold of our eyes, the brush of your hand as it passes over mine, that particular way that you say my name.

yea, like that. say it again. yes, that's right....

one more time, just once, softly in my ear as you press me hard into the wall, your breath hot on my neck, your hand buried between my thighs...

ohh desire, ain't it just so sweet?

the air is thick in the morning when i think of you. there are some days i am sure that i will choke on it, as it catches in my throat with each breath. instead i swallow hard and inhale again, damning myself to the future that lays before me like a scarifice.

and i lay myself before you, exposed to your elements.

waiting for you to pass me by on your way to the next big thing.

i like thinking about the sensation of your fingers on my skin. there are times when it seems that i can feel every curve and swirl in your fingerprints as they brush across my breasts or slither down my spine.

then at other times your hands feel smooth and strong, like a well crafted paddle, and i long for you to punish me with them. times when i ache for you to leave my ass stinging and flushed pink, a delicious temporary reminder of our most recent encounter.