I'm thinking about her more than I should.
I'm thinking about her in ways that I shouldn't.
It's distracting and all consuming.
I think about touching her, kissing her.
I think about making love to her, fucking her.
I wonder how she feels, how she tastes.
What's she like in bed? Does she like her sex vanilla flavoured or is she into kinky?
My own personal home movie plays over and over again in my head. The two of us together. Her touching me, caressing my body as she drives me crazy with her mouth.
I slip my fingers inside my panties as I imagine her going down on me, making me feel so fucking good. It always surprises me how wet I am when I think about her.
I close my eyes and pretend it's her touching me, her fingers sliding through my arousal as she teases my opening and rubs my clit.
I grind my hips. As an orgasm races to greet me I desperately grip the sheet with my other hand.
It's not long and I'm there, swearing as I come hard.
In the minutes that follow I bask in the after glow. Like it really happened. Like she's really here with me.
But then I'm back to reality and the familiar ache fills me heart and the pain returns.
She's not here, she never will be.
She doesn't return my feelings.
I'm not forever on her mind and in her heart.
I don't need her to say the words. I just know that I'm not the object of her affections.
So I'll continue to be all that she wants from me, her friend.
