Witch's blog~supplemental
I am dying every minute. I don't know if it's the weather--no, I'm sure in part that it's the weather. I'm sure that in part it's that I know that I'm not being eaten alive by cancer. And in a great part it's that my access to sex is limited by physical distance and tonight my spouse being sick with a spring cold. But I want him. All day. All day I've been distracted and on edge. I've gotten so good at putting this away or using it as a means, but not today. And what set me off? Hah. Knowing that he cut his hair. Those silky curls, the ones I couldn't touch anyway, all gone. The sensation of running my hands across the skin and muscle of his back and up his neck into all of that thick hair, that has stayed with me and remains crystal clear. It gives me chills. It makes me hurt. It's the recall of him turning around and blocking my way up the stairs, touching me and breathing fire onto my neck and standing so close, so very close...each breath is ragged, nearly a sob, but I can't have him, not yet.
I suppose we all deserve a weak night occasionally.
If this embed works, enjoy. The original is the hottest song ever written. I don't usually go for remakes but this has an amazing appeal. The video is cheesy, made more so by the fact that the girl is just a couple years too young and seems to have been directed to play to the camera instead of the guy in her bed. It isn't the visual, it's the aural. Just listen.