Thursday, August 18, 2011
I won't even pretend to think I'm in love - although he did drop that bomb on me in the most "OMG, what does he meeeean by that" confounding way. Emotional and physical lust is just as exciting though. Wait, scratch that. It's more exciting. This is before the thoughts of streak stained underwear and his mother on Christmas. It's my heart going pitter-pat and sex and candles and sex and wine and really really good sex and him saying sweet things like "Whatever your little heart desires" or "What do you want tonight? Just name it." The poor man has no idea what he's in for when he starts asking me questions like that. So far, I've kept myself in check. I've only asked to be the meat in a Him and Ryan Reynolds sandwich once. And that's turning out to be a good thing. When I leave him to his own devices I'm greeted with candlelit hottubs; with vacation plans that include indulging my camera addiction - So, yes, things are good. I don't even have another word for it. It just Is. Good.
And that has me freaking the hell out. How long can this fucker last with the sweet, hot sex, treating me like I'm special shit? I keep waiting for it all to go boom in my face - Because I'm rational like that.
Posted by SP at 8:21 AM