It's a hundred and fucking four today--

I am in the mood to write stories...
So I should shut up and write them, right?
Ok. I will.
in a minute...

Today was spent diving from one air conditioned womb to another,
through thick, heavy air, as hot as beams of sun are, at this distance...
as hot as the slippery sand of a beach, a desert, a dune...
as hot as the leather seats of a car left in the sun for too long...
as hot as that lifeguard who could not possibly be checking me out...could he?
hotter than...everything else.

So after all the slithering like lazy snakes from the cold car to the cold gym to the cold car to the cold house--
we tumbled sweatily to the pool.
my tee ball crush lives in this neighborhood, apparently.
that's either good news or bad news, but most likely no news.
I have a club minimum of 4 crushes at a time, just for anyone keeping score at home...
So, it's not so very special.
I have a new blogger crush, too---
makes my blood rush just to think of it in passing, like this.
how he hovers in my mind while my body is experiencing...pleasure.
I wonder if he really has chest hair, or if that's just my version.
and I wonder if he would sense the wavering restraint of my desire,
and if he read my mind, would he blush before roughly pressing me against a wall and breathlessly acting out what he saw there...?

somehow, this volleying back and forth between extreme hot and extreme cool is making me extremely aware of sexuality...mine? yours? ...ours.
I haven't written a fantasty for a while, but it's all I can think of right now.
nothing specific...
just a growing need to touch, be touched.
my sunburn feels warm as the cool air of my home flows around me.
ha!!!!
that was fucking classic!!!
my phone just rang...
to my "hello?"
hubby says, "get your finger out of there."
killer.
he knows me...
his joke was accurate, and that means we're connected.
and that makes me radiate happiness--
it meets my sunburn, on its way out of me and they get tangled up, such different frequencies, such similar temperatures...

so...no fantasy.
not for you, at least.
me?
I might just lean back in this chair, close my eyes, and use my palette to create a panorama of skin, of wetness from mouths, from clouds, from...me.
I might slide my hand down, across my hardening nipples and under the waistband of my shorts, damp from the removed wet bathing suit.
I might.
one strap of my tank top slipping over a shoulder, the fabric brushing my skin gives me shivers, wishing it was you, or caused by you...more directly.
my body is suddenly the same as this day--
hard nipples, showing coldness, metal chair against sunburned back, coldness--
the heat growing under the pressure of my fingers, not at all like the heat of this dry day.
where are you? impatiently moaned...
like a spoiled child--
a lazy girl, wanting you to do the fucking, or at least help...

shit.
I'll probably regret posting this....