i wish i could hate you instead of thinking about when the next time is you’ll let me suck your cock. i hate the fact that you can walk away and keep such control over yourself when just the thought of you makes me wet and wanting. i pretend nonchalance. i fake casual interest. and yet in my every arousal, every image of erotic poetry that seeps into my soul; it’s you.
standing there in your naked glory, proudly presenting your jutting cock as if it were a simple appendage when it is the crowing glory of my lust filled mind and i want to bask in it’s magnificent shadow, supine before you like the supplicant i feel myself to be. i hate the fact that you perfectly arouse me and for you i am simply expendable.