Martine's texted me and asked if I’d like to watch the Importance of Being Earnest, by the British Theatre Playhouse (not that I’ve watched anything by them previously), with him. I suppose I must have hinted that it was my absolute-est favourite-est play ever sometime back.
Me (after being offered to be brought to watch the play) Yay! I’m happy for the rest of the night.
Him: You will sleep soundly then!
Me: ‘Suppose so. Sleep… well, (Oh, I had to say this) and till we get to do that together…
Him: Lord knows I’d love to penetrate you… But I must have restraint.
And for some odd reason, the flirting over text messages turned me on. Especially with mention of the penetration bit. The word just strucked me so hard and made me shudder.
Me: Um… Why do I have this strange, warm feeling spreading from between my legs.Dad.
I wasn’t teasing any longer, and I could feel myself getting wet. There was such a heightened sense of sexuality in me. Not being able to get what you want definitely causes any mention of the prize to result in aggravated, irregular heart palpitations. Amazing how so much of sexual excitement’s really all in your head.
Him: Stop teasing.Please, please, please, please!
Me: Oh God. Trust me, I’m equally as tortured… (but I’m ever the masochist).
I really had wanted to suggest sneaking over to his place by saying that no one need fucking know. But had thought better of it. I’d knew he’d say no anyway, and I’d just come off across as childish, and terribly selfish. And I didn’t want him to think that; nothing to do with me being genuinely considerate. I cannot even possibly see how his fears can come to realization in the first place anyway, so there was no way I could have been.
Me: All-right, I shan’t give you blue balls or anything like tonight. Bah.
Him: Thanks? Wet, generous goodnight kisses for the space between your legs.
Hmm…
Humph.
xoxox
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