Little girl
This is why I hate working here sometimes. It's super boring, and it gives my brain time to wander. It gives me time to look at pretty boys on the internet. Gives me time to let my mind think of fantasies that leave me squirming in my seat when it's all said and done.
Then suddenly I'm off day dreaming about romances involving lead singers. Day dreams that involve kissing skin that covers tight, smooth, and defined muscles. A peak at the stomach in one picture. Arms raised above thier head in a childish manner, reaching for the sky, and that patch of skin. That line of hair that leads into the darker... hotter places.
I should have become a romance novelist. A Trashy Romance novelist.
I can't blame me though.
Watching a boy's muscles move underneath his skin when he shirt is off... the way the shoulders scrunch together, and then pull apart. The soft bumps of the spine, leading down the back like a dragon. Up to the neck, and then down to the front. Lateral muscles pulling and shifting... I either need to to get laid badly, or I secretly enjoy fantasizing about such things, because they are so much prettier in my head.
Ever look at a boys hands? Long fingers... the tendons connecting the fingers to the wrist. Rough palms, flat finger nail beds. The veins swell and ebb with the positioning of their arms. The amount of force they can take... but the gentle way the calloused fingertips glide down your stomach.. or the way the fingers meld almost perfectly with your hand.
And then there are the pretty boys... That is for another day though
Then suddenly I'm off day dreaming about romances involving lead singers. Day dreams that involve kissing skin that covers tight, smooth, and defined muscles. A peak at the stomach in one picture. Arms raised above thier head in a childish manner, reaching for the sky, and that patch of skin. That line of hair that leads into the darker... hotter places.
I should have become a romance novelist. A Trashy Romance novelist.
I can't blame me though.
Watching a boy's muscles move underneath his skin when he shirt is off... the way the shoulders scrunch together, and then pull apart. The soft bumps of the spine, leading down the back like a dragon. Up to the neck, and then down to the front. Lateral muscles pulling and shifting... I either need to to get laid badly, or I secretly enjoy fantasizing about such things, because they are so much prettier in my head.
Ever look at a boys hands? Long fingers... the tendons connecting the fingers to the wrist. Rough palms, flat finger nail beds. The veins swell and ebb with the positioning of their arms. The amount of force they can take... but the gentle way the calloused fingertips glide down your stomach.. or the way the fingers meld almost perfectly with your hand.
And then there are the pretty boys... That is for another day though