I feel like a lovesick teenager!
Can’t you please just call?!
I’m sorry if my response to your lovely compliment about memorable blow jobs wasn’t so well received. You must understand that I’m torn between flattered you remember and wanting to punch you in the head.
It’s okay. It’s not the first time in history someone’s drunken finger slipped on a cellphone or email “Send”.
Just remember I didn’t blast into your life like a hurricane, stirring up the dust of all that old lust.
And I am intrigued. I’m not gonna lie about that.
If only to know more about a guy who has the cast-iron balls to do that.
I want to know about the guy who can carry that spark for so long.
Who pours gasoline on a fire he knows will start.
And then sit back in silence and let me burn alone…
24 January 2014
Two AM thoughts at two in the afternoon…