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Tyler
Fuck a duck. I couldn’t get her out of my head.
It had been four weeks of our weekly Hump Day get-togethers. Marisa had progressively gotten more and more into my head and under my skin. It was wreaking havoc on my system. I wanted more. More sex. More conversation. More Marisa.
It wasn’t like we just met up and banged every Wednesday. We texted a couple of times during the course of each week. We talked on the phone every once in a while, mostly under the guise that I was bored and just wanted to say hi “like a normal person.” This always made her laugh because she secretly thought I might be crazy. If only she knew how crazy I really was. Crazy for her. Crazy for her touch, her kiss, her laugh.
And damn, her laugh was musical. The girl couldn’t hold a tune to save her life, as I’d painfully learned one drunken night before we fell into bed. I thought it would be good to have music on. In her drunken stupor, she thought it would be fun to have a sing-a-long. And when she started to sing, and I started laughing hysterically, she only increased her enthusiasm to sing her heart out. Now whenever we had our singing sessions, it was a little game for us, for me to try and sing louder than her, “so the neighborhood hounds didn’t mistake her vocalizations as mating calls.” The memory had me laughing again, just as hard as we both had that night.
I could practically hear her laughter in the empty space of my apartment. I couldn’t wait three more days to see her.
Me: What are you doing this fine and beautiful Sunday?
Marisa: Laundry. Nothing beautiful about that.
Me: Damn!
Marisa: What?
Me: Now I’m picturing your bras and underwear.
Marisa: LOL!
Me: And now I’m picturing you naked!
Marisa: Well . . . I am barely clothed.
Me: Sweet Jesus! What are you wearing?
The dots were dancing on my screen. And my dick was dancing in my pants. Images of Marisa naked made me immediately hard.
Marisa: Want a pic?
Me: Fuck yes!
My mouth was watering. I adjusted myself through my shorts. I watched in anticipation as the dots danced again.
Marisa: LMAO! There ya go!
The pic that came through wasn’t a minutely clad Marisa like I thought it would be. But the image on my screen was still sexy as fuck. It was a selfie of her in her puffy robe and her hair thrown up in a messy bun. She wasn’t wearing a speck of makeup, and she was absolutely stunning. The pinks, purples, blues, and greens of her robe swirled together in a rainbowy mermaid tail effect. But she had it strategically parted so I could see the side of each glorious breast, then down over her naturally bronzed stomach and just a hint of the top of her underwear on display.
Marisa: How do you like my Sunday Laundry Day attire?
Me: You’re fuckin gorgeous.
Marisa: Haha! You’re so funny!
Me: Seriously, I’m drooling.
Marisa: Okay, funny guy.
Me: I need to talk about something else. Otherwise . . .
Marisa: Otherwise, what?
Me: I’m not saying. You might have me arrested for the things I want to do to you.
Marisa: ;)
