she used to be modest

he knows how to make me ache. how to make me want it in a way that no previous boy has before. he has this look -- half grin, half smirk -- that let's me know what he wants and when he wants it. i can barely look him in the eye when he does this to me. i look away and giggle. it does things to me. it makes me shy and uncomfortable in the most unbareably bareable ways. i look again right into his eyes and it's hard to keep looking as our foreheads touch and i'm trying a grin of my own. the look of pure lust. he told me he's seen me do it before when i'm drunk and not so cordinated as to not give him that look when his friends are watching.

"you're evil," i whisper.
"i know," he says, still glancing, half-smirking, licking his lips making me ache. "so?"

i squint. i can't stand it anymore. he slips a hand under my shirt knowing that no one around us can see. he squeezes my left breast and tugs at my nipple. he knows what this does to me. he moves his other hand between my legs hidden beneath my coat and rubs hard enough for me to feel it through my jeans and than just smirks and pulls away. he knows it hurts by now -- how much i want him. how i could take him right now in front of everyone and i wouldn't care who saw.

there is nothing like a fantasy. 
¶ 7:29 PM |