the lost art of conversation

      Let's talk. I really do not care what we talk about; let us just talk about what is on your mind. I hope it is sex, but I'm open for almost anything... I miss a good sit down conversation. Maybe I'm a little "old-school", but I enjoy looking you in the face (yes, I know where your eyes are) and talking. You with a glass of wine, me with a glass of whiskey, sitting at a nice table just conversing. I miss a good conversation. A good conversation can be almost as good as foreplay; wait, it is FOREPLAY! I dropped the ball on this a few days (or maybe weeks, time is a bit malleable for me) ago. I want to fuck you, but conversation is a huge turn-on for me. I'm a good listeanner, I hear and absorb everything you say as I stare into your eyes. I know you have no interest in what I have to say, and I'm cool with that, this is what Facebook is about. I can stare at your breasts, lose myself in your eyes; but in the end, it is your words that turn me on. Okay, that is a half-truth; your body is hot, your nipples are hard, and I'm guessing you are just a little wet... Not because of me, but the idea of me; how my tongue will feel on you, how you'll feel when I'm inside you, how my skin will feel upon your skin...
     I take you to the dance floor for a slow dance. I hold you close, you pull me closer. I slide my hand down to feel the curve of your ass, you pull me closer. Your hips grind against me, I push into you, you push into me; I feel your heat through your jeans. You smile and bite me on the neck, I push you away and spin you to the music. You smile and I get lost... in your smile, your eyes, your cleavage, the way you move your hips, the mental image of you in my bed... The song ends, we walk back to the table, drink our shots, and I am at a loss for witty things to say. I want you, you want me, but we both lack the words to articulate our desires.
     So, we part ways; we kiss, exchange numbers, and promise to call each other (even though we both know this to be a lie). I can still feel your body humming even though we are separated by eight inches; my cock throbs through my jeans, we want each other, but we are both too damaged to act upon our desires. So, you call a cab, I wait with you by the front door, then get on my bike and ride home; wishing, desiring, dreaming of the fun we could have had...
     But... I saved your number, I'll call you in the morning, I swear...