To the fella in the paint stained jeans,
Fuck me.
Signed,
Inner Sex Fiend
I’m a bright eyed package of lust and wonder whenever I see
you and your blue collar casual grace. I
see a hint of a smile in that pensive gaze.
We don’t say much but hello to each other and have a nice day. But I know you’re feeling me and, like me,
you would like to collide in a black on black war of body and soul in a dance
as the sun beams on us, glistening sweat and desire. Powerful like the scent of jerk chicken or the
sounds of Georgia Anne Muldrow or this desire that teases me now and then to be the
answer to your question, the space between mundane thoughts, and the sweet
release to your awesomely painful long strokes.
To the dude in the paint stained jeans,
Fuck me.
Signed,
Inner Sex Fiend
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