The lingering question kept me up.
I know your first name is not Isaac.
I have been going over and over in my head seeing your face, seeing you look at me, seeing your eyes behind your glasses and how badly I want to spend my days and nights with you.
I keep fantasizing you’re here, what I would want you to do to me—
playing with my nipples,
playing with my dick, or just
waking up next to me.
I can still see your puppy eyes staring at me, I couldn’t believe it was happening.
Usually I’m the one who steals a glance and make eye contact, check out the hottest person near me. At first, I couldn’t tell. Were you actually checking me out, or was it me…wanting it to be true?
Today was different. You walked up to me wearing your denim jacket with ALONE printed on the back and tight starched jeans. As we walked, we were talking, I didn’t say half the things I wanted to. You had to leave so you asked for my phone and keyed in your number. I was so excited of the thought that it was really happening that I accidentally deleted it.
If you read this post get back to me, so we can do nasty and romantic things to each other.
I’m enchanted to meet you even I just made this all up to justify my reason for smiling. I like you and that is why I am smiling. This is the type of smile that makes the muscles on your face tired, but you really don’t give a damn whether they’re sore and you keep smiling for as long as you can remember.
All those other guys, well they’re beautiful and your type. But would they write a mojito-induced blog entry about you?