holding me to hold me back
Hazel. My eyes are Hazel, and therefore changing shades with the different colors I wear. The bright pink I wore yesterday may have toned them down some, whereas the black may make them more of the sharp silver-blue. I am very glad you like them. I love looking into your big "puppy-dog brown" eyes. Most of the time we are kissing and our eyes are closed. It was nice to lay there and just look into yours eyes as much as you would let me. They are very nice, but I see your shyness in them. When I stare deep into them, or when I try to look at you, you don't let me look very long before you start kissing me again or you look off, or pull from the stare.
I am nostalgic. I refer to the room numbers as oppose to saying "at the hotel" on our IM. But it is nice how my reference worked out. I like it.
I want to be addictive medicine to you, because you are erotic therapy for me. I want to be each piece of the candy just inside the colorful store window. While you, you are the child standing outside on the hot sidewalk, nose and hands pressed tightly against the glass - starring in hard. Licking your lips. Counting in your head the number of dimes that lay in your pocket and figuring mathmatically mad at the possibilities and options. You know I taste damn good; mouth watering at the least. My sweet, rich aroma almost burns your nose with pleasure. BUT I, I am expensive for such a small handful of time with you. And you know if you eat too much of me at once, I could make you sick. And yet still, you stand gazing in... your forehead pounding on the glass lightly. Your warm breath fogging the cool glass just in front of your hot watering mouth. You remove one hand from the glass and slowly slide your hand down into your pocket. Curving the dimes over and about the rounded finger tips of your sweaty palm. You tap your foot quickly up and down at the overwhelming aggrevating confrontation. And without removing your eyes from the curvy, filled jars in the window, you remove the other hand from the window and slowly over to the cold, golden handle on the door. You take a deep breath and pull the door open. So hot outside, at first you are overtaken by the cool airconditioning hitting your flesh powerfully as the door closes slowly behind you. At this point, without hesitation and completely overwhelmed by your desire for the taste to be inside your mouth, you rush directly to the clerk at the counter. Without a word you dig hard and deep into your pocket. The opposite hand on the counter for balance and minor control. Your fingers search and pull to obtain every dime within the shell of your pocket. Without leaving a single one stranded your hand emerges from the cotton lining of your pants. Dimes pertruding from all points, a grip so tight your nuckles are white. You place your tight fist on the glass. Opening your hand quickly - releasing all of the dimes abruptly onto the glass counter. They roll and fall loudly - pocket lent and cotton fuzz float amongst the silver shine of the hard, cold and numerous coins.
Taking the back of the very same hand and wiping sweat from your brow. Heart pounding as you think of the consequences. But with an ache you are unable to deny, you look up at the clerk and say "Give me one of each, and fail not to leave one out."
Grabbing the heavy, brown, paper bag - you unroll the top and open. You slowly slide your hand down into the bag and pull out the first piece. Placing it onto your tongue gives you chills, as such a desire being satisfied. Your mouth waters much as you suck it hard. Rubbing it over your tongue to savor every ounce of taste available from the moment. Your lips pucker, as you are not used to obtaining such sweetness in your mouth.
And you eat each piece with the same respect, down to an empty paper bag. You grin at your indulgence with no mind to the consequences nor the potential good or bad feelings that may present themselves. But just enjoy. Savor. Share. And you wait for the next wicked allowance!
Don't you just know I enjoy being the candy you crave? And I desire, it is my strong will, to be ever the more sweet each time you touch me, to satisfy your need and give you that rush that you require and crave. As do I desire to be melted inside your mouth.
You deserve me. I need you.
You'd think being on the recieving end of such a letter would be a good thing, no? Sigh. Take it light.
