I could have an orgasm just with his kisses.
He pulls away from me with a cry of
disapproval, as he removes his shirt. I gulp down
hard and loudly and in such an embarrassing
manner that he busts out laughing and touches his
magnificent head, with its buzz-cut hairstyle.
“God … you’re…” I don’t have the right words
to describe his body.
He’s a work of art, sculpted by fairy hands with
a thick golden chisel. He’s robust and well defined;
he’s got the perfect turtle abdomen. His arms are
strong and possessive and covered in tattoos, over
which I slowly pass my hands, defining the edges
and the lines and imagining some secret meaning.
I’ve never liked tattoos, just like I’m not a big fan
of piercings, but on him … everything would be
good on him.
“Stop looking at me like that. You’re
embarrassing me,” he says, blushing just a bit.
What? Him? Embarrassed?
“No false modesty please, Patrick. We both
know you have a body that people get orgasms just
looking at.”
He bursts out with the most uproariously loud
laugh that makes me smile spontaneously. It’s so
nice when he laughs, when he loses thatfor the
man who never has to askpersona and is a bit
insecure, just enough to make him human and lets
me know I’ve got an earthling here in front of me
not some Greek divinity reincarnated.
