With the radio tuned to the local country station, I log onto Lush to begin a little work.
The message beeps go off and a little window says, “Hi”
For the next three hours
I don’t get much work done but we have another wonderful conversation.
We talk about everything and anything; we share our hopes, our fears, our happinesses, and our disappointments.
We talk about making love, and we talk about fucking.
We talk about respect, and love, and support, and partnership, and we pinky swear together.
We talk about grooming, and glasses, and feelings.
We talk about the comfort of hugs and cuddling, and how sometimes making love is specifically not about having sex.
We talk about cooking for one, and dressing for two.
We talk about what we will do tomorrow, and what we did today.
We talk about sleeping, and on which side of the bed.
We kiss good night and I place a hand on your hip, whispering “Good night, Dear.”
Feeling guilty, I read a few stories out of duty.
Even the best ones are anticlimatic, and Conway finds a tiger in those tight fittin’ jeans.
I turn off the computer, and the radio. I roll over onto my side and go to sleep, clutching a pillow.
Sometime during the night I dream about holding hands, and I look behind you, admiring your ass, as we walk down the street together.
Your hair shines in the sun, and I am proud to be with you.
You are wearing tight fitting jeans.
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<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/love-poems/tight-fittin-jeans.aspx">Tight Fittin' Jeans</a>