It’s midday, and I’m still lying in bed, blissful with the delicious warm load Curtis left inside me before he kissed me goodbye to head to work. It’s been six months since we first met at a hole-in-the-wall bar in the city, and flirted over cheap whiskey. And yet, it feels like we’ve known each other forever.
Curtis is the kind of man I’ve always fantasized about being with; tall, with broad shoulders and a robust, muscular body – the kind you get from laboring all day as a builder. His work uniform – a bright orange safety shirt, oil-stained khaki pants, and dirty work boots – always turns me on when he shrugs himself into it in the early hours of the morning. As someone who works with his hands all day, lifting piles of bricks and slathering cement in sidewalks, he knows how to use them well. His strong, rough fingers know their way around my body like no one else has ever known it before. Just thinking of the way he uses them to explore my deepest desires makes me long urgently for him.