It’s been brewing for a couple of days; a tingling beneath my skin longing to be touched. Today, it is a fever. So lost in thoughts of tangled limbs and rumpled bed sheets that I can barely see straight. As I type, I remind myself to breathe to hide how wound up I am. And I am SO wound up.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me…” Plays on a loop in my head. I want to paint my nails and toes bright red, put on stockings and heels, and be completely ravished. Against a wall. On a table. On a couch. On a floor. In a fluffy hotel bed. And I want it all the ways. Slow and contemplative. Rushed and hungry. Famished. Ravenous.
Heaven help me.