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Lying beneath impatient sheets I hunger for you. The night is empty and I dream about you between short terrifying passages of transient sleep. Darkness slashes
my inflamed skin and my body rises to meet you and collapses back again, unsatisfied and alone. I cannot sleep unless I am exhausted inside you; I can’t eat without
tasting you on my lips. I am blind except for your imploring eyes staring back at me as I slowly enter you; there is no music sweeter than the slow rhythmic chords
of your pleasure. How many more minutes until I can feel you beneath me again? How many more lies do we need to tell before you are in my arms? It’s a lottery,
really. No matter how cute or well put together I might be, I’m really just waiting for my numbers to come up and find the right person who appreciates my sense of
humor, doesn’t take herself too seriously, likes to be worshipped (if only part-time), and wants to share an adventure with me both inside and outside of the
bedroom. I want someone who is cute, sweet, literate, and orally fixated because that’s what I am. You want me because I am discrete and always a gentleman, someone
who will do whatever it takes to make you squirm, and respects your limits as you would mine.
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