Friday nights are for Fucking

...just in case you didn't get the memo.
God DAMN I'm horny.
Had a great workout, bowling was nearly homicidally inducive (inducing?),
and the kids are sweetly tucked away with their favorite blankets and apples with cinnamon sugar.
I am supposed to be paying tuition.
Puh.
Leeez.
As if I could sit at my computer for more than 3 seconds without first checking blogstuff.
Oh!
And looking up a friend's number.
hold that thought.
Damn internet just let me down.
It's a rare occurence, and it stings.
I shall hold a grudge against my tempetuous lover for 6.12 minutes.
Dramatic pouting and sniffles shall ensue.

Anywho.
I guess I'm stuck having everyone over for drinks and appetizers after all.
I was hoping to switch it to them meeting us for dinner.
bleh.
It's going to be a fun evening anyway.
Comedy club and dancing and, most importantly, a cab there and back.
yay for a paid designated driver!

Hm.
I was in the mood to write when I started this,
but now I've wasted a bunch of time ordering books and paying for classes,
and I'm all out of pretty words.

I've decided I hate my hair cut.
I'll go in next week and have him fix it.
he's a darling, it'll be fine.

I know I shouldn't think such thoughts, but I am...
I'm sketching out scenes in my head of torid and dark and mysterious and sighing moments.
I'm closing my eyes and feeling soft lips brush down the length of my arched neck.
I'm licking my lips, wondering why they taste like someone else's mouth--
why I smell the skin of a man.
I am not focusing on it, and yet it is focusing on me.
Thoughts, images pounding into the goose bumped skin of my arms,
slipping through the cracks in my armor, and lodging inside the thick buttery soul of my most magical dreams.
Bursts of sensual overload hit me and with each, a picture--a flash, a click; it's a slideshow.
I'm creating it, but it has overflowed and is out of my control.
hands running firmly down my bare back, cupping over my ass with a tug--
I shiver at this as if it were real.
A bare chest faces me, I can almost feel the hairs brushing against my cheek as my lips wander across warm skin.
Eyes.
Meeting.
Scenes of tenderness overlap scenes of wild abandon--sweating, crushing, clutching.
My thighs, lean and strong--
fiercely stradling
or falling open gently
or wrapping around.
hair grasped in handfuls, teeth leaving marks--
everything is mixing together...
I can't focus...
it's forcing out all other thoughts, all ability to think.
This is living.

Happy New Year.....