I know what you are. What you do. Those days that are just draining and tiring. All you want to do is go home and relax. Cover up on the couch and maybe watch some tv. Or just take a nap.
I know you’re so tired baby. In need of a sweet release. A passionate, intense release.
That’s when I knock on the door. It’s me your coworker. We rarely talk. We’ve only shared a couple glances. But, when I do see you, I notice just how beautiful you are, how your eyes speak volumes, and how you’re quite taciturn. I think to myself, “She’s so fucking cute.” I immediately start to tune out those lewd thoughts. Because I know it’s wrong. I shouldn’t be thinking of you in an explicit manner. I shouldn’t be imagining what you would look like with your hair all messy and disheveled, your makeup running down your face, your expression all flustered and red.
I wouldn’t want to corrupt such a quiet innocent girl.
You invite me in for a drink.
“Tea is fine. Sure.”
You pour me a glass. You think you’re slick choosing one of the fancy looking glass cups but you’re not. Are you trying to impress me? I see the plastic ones right there, hon.
We talk. And I try to exclude anything about work. After all, on our days off, who wants to talk about work?
I notice you’re wearing some shorts, along with a cute top. Your hair is in a bun, with strands extruding. Awww. Is this your lazy day outfit? Fucking adorable.
As we keep conversing, I notice your eyes start to pull away from me, almost purposefully trying to avoid looking me in the eyes.
Oh no. That won’t do.
I, mid sentence, grab your chin with my fingers and make you look at me. I’m not rough of course. I gently caress those sweet dimples in your chin and force you to make eye contact with me.
You’re stammering, trying to find the words to say but you just keep fumbling.
“Nervous? Hm. Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever told you this but… you have such a cute nose. I can just…”
Boop.
Your cheeks are visibly red.
Silence fills the air. The only thing between us is opportunity.
I firmly press my body against yours, the counter behind you creeks a bit. It’s an old house.
Our chests are essentially attached. Hell, I could feel your heart racing.
“So, are you going to kiss me? Or do I need to make the first move, hon?”