You, Me and the Coffee Jar

Pantry tu sempit...
...... and you have got one superbly fine ass.



One that anyone would like to rub against.
You, the one with the tight black pants.
That one that you buckled just under your naked navel.
The onewith hems slightly hanging above the ankles.
Yes, that pants that hugged your voluptiously ample buttocks and the rest lower half so close I wish I was born a cotton tree.

... love that delicious white baby tee too.

I know. I know.
Shouldn't have stood there browsing last year's tabloid.

But you just couldn't wait, could you?
You didn't stop at all.
Not even a breath of hesitation.
You just have to slide in with your back towards me, moving sideways to get to the coffee jar.
You just have to do that.

You just have to do that...*sigh*

Was it intentional?

As I said, Pantry tu sempit...

No way I could have avoided rubbing against you.
Rubbing against your fine posterior.
Even with my back flat on the wall.
Linen against lines of linen and nothing else after.

The feel of that groove.
The pressure of the flesh.
The texture.
The smoothness.
That imprint.
The youth.
The momentary madness.
The testosterone rush.
The lust.
Even if it is so brief...

The turn
and the smile...

What was that smile?

It was intentional, was it not?

*wipes sweat of forehead and neck

Madness. Am now so lost. Watching you sway as you leave and sporting hard on.

The Pantry is sooo sempit... I would have told you.
But you knew that, of course.

All I can think of now is you, your smile, your fine buns and the memory of that brief ...err .. whatever it was.

Damn you.
Damn you...
.... damn you

*Deep breath .... long and slow exhale

*damn you....



Call me if you're going for coffee again, will ya?