Impossible
It is impossible not to want you when I see you. Impossible not to be moved to want to touch you, stroke you skin, kiss your lips, hold you in my arms. I revel in the way you feel, and smell, and taste. Some of my fondest memories are kneeling at your feet, head cradled in your lap while I inhale your scent. I can feel the heat of you, pressed against my cheek while you stroke my hair. Slowly, I start to stroke my cheek against the growing hardness I find there. Heat, hardness… It’s a tease, a taste of things to come. Slowly, still on my knees, I move until I’m in front of you, hands on both of your thighs. Looking up, I see your face, your eyes half closed slits as you watch me. It’s not a sleepy look, but one of intensity. You watch my every move. With our eyes locked on each other, I slide closer, hands moving until they cup the hardness that’s grown – hardness that speaks to me of how much you enjoy this, and how much joy you’re about to bring me. I knead the crotch o