Raz
Bluelighter
I can't find a way out of your scent. It's an open secret that a man who smells of stale beer will always find a place in my pants.
So here we are, killing time and money and booze and building fantasies that lead to the reality of teeth and tongues, and it occurs to me to ask; why does lust sound so similar to gluttony? Are all sins related, like an angry family of green-eyed cannibals who wanted too much and fucked it all away? But in this mood I'm too lazy to mix metaphors...
Your leg is brushing against mine. Not deliberately, but passively aggressive; the tension says we both wanted it all along and even our clothes are in the way and thank fuck you accidentally touched my leg, because now you have an excuse to leave it there. So you leave it there.
Safer sex than this doesn't exist outside of masturbation or any one of nine hundred and ninety nine fetishes neither of us share (though we both gleefully admit we're up for anything). No, the only fetish we share is an almost manic suppression of any desire to know one another past the skin. I lie; I'd extend myself six, maybe seven inches if you'd be receptive to that.
Whatever-your-name-is, go buy me another round. It makes this taste better.
EDITTED - changed the word 'anonymity' in the last line to 'this', it rolls off the tongue easier and doesn't sound as heavy-handed..
So here we are, killing time and money and booze and building fantasies that lead to the reality of teeth and tongues, and it occurs to me to ask; why does lust sound so similar to gluttony? Are all sins related, like an angry family of green-eyed cannibals who wanted too much and fucked it all away? But in this mood I'm too lazy to mix metaphors...
Your leg is brushing against mine. Not deliberately, but passively aggressive; the tension says we both wanted it all along and even our clothes are in the way and thank fuck you accidentally touched my leg, because now you have an excuse to leave it there. So you leave it there.
Safer sex than this doesn't exist outside of masturbation or any one of nine hundred and ninety nine fetishes neither of us share (though we both gleefully admit we're up for anything). No, the only fetish we share is an almost manic suppression of any desire to know one another past the skin. I lie; I'd extend myself six, maybe seven inches if you'd be receptive to that.
Whatever-your-name-is, go buy me another round. It makes this taste better.
EDITTED - changed the word 'anonymity' in the last line to 'this', it rolls off the tongue easier and doesn't sound as heavy-handed..
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