I'm thinking about you right now. Yes, you. I follow lots of journals but it's you that's captured my imagination more than anyone else. I visit every day, hoping you've got some more stuff up, rereading your archives when there's no new entry. And you flit in and out of my thoughts all the time.
You really have no idea, do you? You don't know how wild you drive your readers with those naughty tales, those occasional photos, the dirty confessions and fantastic fantasies. You don't know what it does to me -- how it makes me achingly hard, ridge in pants standing out clearly for anyone to see. How it distracts me beyond belief to see each new teasing tale from you. Makes my head spin, my blood race, my heart pound. Makes me ooze precum till I'm soaking through my shorts. Makes me forget everything but the desperate tingling in my balls as I stroke myself relentlessly towards orgasm, still feverishly reading your words.
And I fantasize about you. Oh, yes, I do. I fantasize about what it'd be like to chat with you, to send you nasty emails, to detail my lusty thoughts in vivid black and white. I fantasize about sending you a list of demands for you to execute, knowing that your wild side will be brought forth in full flower by that. I fantasize about writing a story in tandem with you, building faster and faster on each others' thoughts until the final result is so hot it smokes. I fantasize about email exchanges between us, electrons flying back and forth at lightspeed, but not nearly as fast as my hand on my cock or your fingers buried in your sopping cunt. I fantasize about sending you text messages while you're at work, trying to concentrate, being distracted by my increasingly explicit descriptions of what I'm doing to myself right....this.....second.
Yes, you're in my thoughts quite a bit. I wonder what your voice sounds like. Wonder what I would do if I picked up the phone and you were on the other end, breathing hard and fucking yourself hard and fast with fingers, a toy, something. I wonder how long I'd last before spraying all over myself to the sound of your purring "That's it, come for me". I wonder if you'd be half as turned on as I was, if you'd seen as many stars as I had when I blasted off, if you were dripping with need as much as I imagine you are.
What would you be like if you were here, I wonder? Would you be submissive and eyes downcast as I directed you in a cold voice to strip for me? Would you be hot and wild and aggressive, pushing me back in my seat and yanking our clothing off so fast that I'm inside you in less than a minute? Would you scream as I nailed you to the wall from behind? Would you gush all over me as you rode me like a bucking bronco? How many times could I make you come with lips and tongue alone before you pushed me away, begging "no more, please"? Would you beg me to fuck you harder, harder, harder, or would it be slow and sensual and dreamy, all sighs and whispers and fingers tangled in each other as we urged each other toward sweet release? Would I fill your cunt with my come or would you beg me to hose you down on face and lips and tits?
Oh yes, I wonder. And I think of you. And I fantasize about you. All the time. Every time I read one of your entries.
How does that make you feel?