I can't stop imagining his sweat, the smell of it, my sweat mixing with his, the friction or lack thereof between us. His incredible mouth, his lack of pretense, his indifference to whether my bikini line is waxed, my scars, my pussy. His eyes on me, they don't scare me, they don't make me self conscious.

His eyes on me, they doesn't make me think, can he see my fat? Is he looking at my cellulite? They make me want to take his cock in my mouth and make him howl, all the while looking up at him, into his eyes. They make me think, oh yes please, come inside me, please, I need you so bad.

Then after. Lying together totally exhausted, drained, but waiting for more. In ten or fifteen minutes, when we've caught our breath and had some water and played with ice cubes to cool us down, we'd be ready for more.

Oh and the kissing. The constant, hungry, deep, or gentle and stroking kiss that never ends, but is continued on necks, earlobes, breasts, bellies. I want his smell in my nose. That musky BO sweaty 'i just fucked you all night and day' smell.

GOD I want to fuck him. So much. I want to pull him into my bed, and never ever leave it again. Not to go to work, to go to a movie, not to go to the pub, nothing. I never want to leave my bed again, as long as he's in it, except to fuck in the shower, on the floor, on the couch, in the kitchen, out in the yard, in the park across the street. I want to spend the rest of my life fucking him, fucking him, over and over.