He had a crush on me from the first time he saw me,
least that’s what he said.
I dunno if that’s a line he’s feedin’
or if that’s truth he’s seedin’
but it ain’t every day I’m all objectified.
I kinda like it sometimes,
Like the idea of curlin’ up around him,
runnin’ my fingers through his hair,
soft kisses ‘n bites along his shoulders ‘n neck.
But we only talk when he’s drunk,
‘n he’s only got that one speed.
Often as it’s hot, he’s sendin’ me pics of him half-naked/bathin’/posin’/kissy faces,
when I’m readin’/writin’/talkin’/worryin’/’n pretty much anything but turned on.
Every time I stop ‘n think to myself,
I been a horny bastard myself,
I hope I ain’t done this to someone.
Then again, I don’t much like takin’ pics of myself.
‘n I ain’t ever responded to a story ’bout someone’s less than perfect first time:
“I just came.”
But he’s drop dead pretty,
‘n he kissed me by clutchin’ the back of my head ‘n pullin’ me tight,
‘n I could feel his dick pressin’ against mine.
When he’s sober he’s fine,
but I can’t have sex drunk anyhow.
I get whiskey dick somethin’ fierce.
