I miss her/his smell.

During the week we talk every day, several times. Text. It is a wonderful amount of communication. It is good. Very satisfying.

But it doesn’t replace touch. Smell. Taste. Seeing a quiet look of concentration bloom into a smile.

I miss the gentle ways of him/her. And the way s/he flows through sexy moods. Rough boy sex? Yes please!! Sweet, soft, girly 69’ing with sounds and toys? Don’t mind if I do! Dirty, dirty role play that puts me right over the orgasmic edge? Absofuckinglutely.

During the week, I miss all that. The time ticks by and it makes me crazy sometimes… So close. Fuck. I cherish the moments we get. Rationed out like water on a hot day. Healing. Refreshing. Frustrated that there isn’t a giant mother fucking lake of it in front of you.

I will, as you are my witness, never take that lake for granted if I ever get there.

It feels like a long march to Saturday this week.