A story about how I found me just wanting you. And that’s not unusual.

I promised me that I would stop, but I CAN’T.

You were raised by wolves, you are all that I want to touch, just touch, be wild and all that crap. You are intense, perfumed, and, in a hateful way, sexy. Pretty, polite and inteligent. You are it. And as I wrote, I want you sir.

Ok, you can’t imagine us in a relationship, so fuck it up, let’s be just very, VERY, V-E-R-Y, intimate ones, after all, we are alive and there’s this magnetism holding our body’s anyway.

And of course I have my rules about it, but nothing wrote in there means that I must not have this intimacy with someone whose body calls for mine, and makes every inch of my skin be so thick because it pulls me right on that damn body. And I’m sure you feel it, there’s no other thing to cancel this thought.

Look, I know you soon will be far away from here, and I’ll stay… So just make this happen, even once time. I know we’ll not be regretted, from the darkest side inside my heart. Here’s not a lost boy writting, it’s me, just me, the one you’d love to meet. Think well about it.

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