8:14 p.m. - February 17, 2003
Heís missed me. And Iíve missed him.
But too much sex this weekend and we both must buckle down this week, he for his training and me for the paper Iím to write and I cannot fathom how I will manage everything. Manage!
I didnít have a clue until we went to the mall so he could get Part II to complete Part I and I thought that was all until I saw Parts I and II together and reread the first paragraph Ė stimuli overload. Iím feeling shy and overwhelmed and embarrassed to admit here; Iím not a writer of erotica any more than Iím cogent with my emotions and any attempt would fall far short.
Maybe Iím overly excited because I donít get out enough? Truly, Iím calm; no, not really. The anticipation is killing me and right now heís on the telephone and sending me one of those grins and I want to go over there and lick him. Lick him all over! Is this me admitting I have carnal desires? I would knock my head on the floor if it would relieve this tension.
He did this just for me and how he remembered that whispered confession a year and a half ago makes me smile and damn! ache.
How the hell am I supposed to write about this?
I canít even say it. Iím a prude, uptight, uncomfortable.
[edited] my eyes canít settle on one place so theyíre rolling around like Pepť le Peuís from the cartoon. A dangerous combination of his being hot and him knowing it Ė and knowing how to use it Ė intimidates me and this is why I call him daddy, because it fits too well. Other guys look at him when weíre outside but itís me who gets to rub his chest and kiss his biceps and lick his pecs, itís me who gets to run my face across his and whimper the way he likes, use his favorite term for his cock and it is apt, it is deft in its description and connotation and I do not care! I do not care!
This is lust.
When he showed me he said itís the look in my eyes that turns him on, as if Iím unsure whether to stay or run. Itís more than that; itís an eager wariness. Does that make any sense?