what I want

The other day I saw a friend, a male friend, a friend with whom I am on hugging terms.

We hugged hello, then we hugged in appreciation of my fresh-out-of-the-oven-melt-in-your-mouth-buttery-sugary-delight, then we hugged goodbye.

Somewhere in there, his scruffy face got buried in my neck and there was a bit of a nuzzle.

And now, all I want is sex.

That intimate contact of warm breath on my attention-starved skin has pried open the lid on Pandora’s Box.

And holy Toledo world, watch out.

I want to have fiery, hot standing up sex in a dark alley.

I want to have languorous afternoon sex while a summer breeze gently caresses our skin.

I want to have tender, sweet sex, and tear your clothes off sex, and fun funny sex, and morning sex, and middle of the night sex, and playing hooky sex, and car sex, and and and…

Shitdamn.

And I currently don’t even have my sights set on anyone – this is a general itch that needs scratching – not one of those situations where I’m feeling horny due to the pheromones exuded by one specific person.

(in other words, I’m not likely to be having sex in the immediate future)

Not that just anyone will do and I’m not quite at “Hey, make me an offer,” but if the right person walked into my kitchen and gave me a steamy sultry look, it could end up being baking table sex.

Oh dear lord.

Guess I’ve got to stock up on batteries.