The Musician

Oh no not butterflies. Those terrible awful bugs that crawl their way around your intestines like dressed up maggots. I always hoped there wasn’t going to be one like this. Connecting with someone on a physical level is one thing, on a mental level it becomes entirely different. The musician pushed me, he stimulated me, he told me I was quick and we batted jokes back and forth like tennis pros. He took me out in his car and we drove around for a while before going back to his. We spent the evening with his flatmates before they decided to go to bed. We smoked a little and had a few drinks and all I could think about was fucking him. Most of the time the tension is there but I’m the passenger. It felt good to be driving. He was so tall, dark soft hair, dark eyes, big hands with these silken twigs of fingers that I longed to feel inside me, every time I saw him lift his cigarette to his lips. I so desperately wanted to fuck him. Mentally and physically, his quick mind, my quick hands. I wanted to make his head roll. When he suggested we go up to bed, if I was the running type I would have leapt up the stairs. “Sure”. We lay on his bed, we kissed, it felt right. I went down on him and his dark eyes closed and his mouth opened. This is how I wanted him. I wanted to be the smarter one. I wanted one up on this boy. 

We fucked all night till the sunlight came in through the window and then we cuddled and kissed. He made me toast in the morning, we bitched about breakfast tv and he drove me home. I like you so much.