I thought I saw you standing naked, next to the travel agent's of my desire. I wanted to take you then to romantic far-off locations. Where we would walk together across golden sun-kissed beaches, eat in small harbour-side cafes and then go back to our luxury hotel for night after night of weirdly perverted and disgusting sexual acts utilizing exotic unguents, power tools and small furry mammals.
Perhaps you could be the one I'm looking for; perhaps it could so easily be you. But I do not know, not until I have put my tongue deep inside all your scotch eggs, and tasted the saltiness of your anchovies.
You mean so much to me, and I do not have the words to say how the mere sight of you is enough to give me a stonking great hard-on that I have to hit with a hammer if I want to have any kind of comfort in my underpants.
Oh, if it were only you wielding that hammer.
I have dreams of you dressed up as the ordinary lady of my desire. Dressed in the ordinary daily clothes of an office worker, instead of that skin-tight leather cat suit you habitually wear.
No comments:
Post a Comment