Pre-occupation

His voice slides like liquid erotica in my ear. He purrs, calls me his kitten. He laughs low, amazingly sexy. I want him badly. He lives hundreds of miles away.

We've been chatting online, what he likes, what I like. We have very similar opinions on dress up, positions, technique. I want to be touched, when I see him the first time. I don't want shy, getting-to-know you handshakes. I want his hands on me, sliding up my skirt, grabbing my ass or just at the small of my back leading me through the hall.

I crave his tongue, that same honey tongue that rolls from my headset down my spine to my wet pussy. I close my eyes, slide my fingers into that wetness and imagine him there. He has never heard me cum for him even though I've done it many times.

When I'm out in the brightness of the real world, away from the siren ping of his IM or the patient wait for his phone call, I wonder if others can feel my desire. I'm so turned on, it's palpable. I'm vibrating with want.

At the deli, dark hair and dark eyes watch me from the table in the corner. He nods in my direction, I wink in response. Does he sense my need? As I place my order, he slides up behind me, brushing my arm as he leans around to grab napkins. He's close enough to smell my perfume, whispers "excuse me."

I could if I wanted, turn around, grab his gaze to hold him there. Strike up a converstion that could lead to many other things. I've done it before. It's worked in the past.

But my mind is preoccupied by his accent, how he says my name and when I'll hear him say it again.