I Want Him So Bad

I want to fuck him so bad.

I want him to slam me against a wall, use all of his strength against me, use all of his charm on me, lift me up, pin me down.

I want him to fuck me so bad.

I want him so badly I fuck other guys in his stead, each time hoping I can make a connection. I don't. They're not him.

I want to fuck him so bad.

I think about it all day long. I try to work, try to sleep, try to tell myself that I'm being unrealistic, being stupid, being childish. Nothing works. I can't get the images out of my head, him on top of me, me on top of him, the two of us caught up in the other's body. I need to stop. I can't.

I want him to fuck me so bad.

What do I do with this? He doesn't even know I exist. I see him every morning on the bus, I hear him talking on the phone to his friends, I know he's single, I know he's looking. Why won't he look at me?

I want to fuck him so bad.

I've imagined every inch of him, from the hair above his cock to his eyelashes, which are a little lighter at the roots. Maybe I don't want him to fuck me. Maybe it will never live up to what I've created in my mind. No, screw that. I definitely want him to fuck me. He walks with just a little too much swagger to be bad in bed. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

I want him to fuck me SO BAD.

When he gets on the bus, I try to watch him without being seen. I take in his arms, and immediately think of what it would be like to have them wrapped around me. I notice the hint of torso I see when he grabs the overhead bar, it's flat and lean and I want to see more.

I WANT TO FUCK HIM SO BAD.

I don't want a relationship. I don't want to get married. I don't want to meet his parents. I want a one night stand. I want to get him out of my system, whatever that means. I'm not looking for forever here; I would be more than content with an encounter in a public washroom. Hot, heavy, dirty, anonymous, I don't need his name. I just need his dick.

I want him to fuck me so bad.

I go home and get myself off thinking about him. As the bullet runs it's vibrations onto my clit, I visualize every detail of fucking that man. My imagination is better than porn. The things he does to me...but I still feel frustrated after I come. Will I ever feel release? WHY HIM? How has he managed to worm his way into my consciousness and not leave?

I want to fuck him so bad.

Maybe all I need to do is make a move. When I get shot down, that should be enough for my brain to stop this ridiculous exercise in futility and let me go back to living. Yes, I decide. I'll ask him tomorrow.

I want him to fuck me so bad.

I don't ask him. I chicken out. He's so beautiful, with his strong jaw and his blue eyes. He could have any girl he wanted. He won't want me. I know he'll shoot me down, and I don't want to be shot down.

I WANT TO FUCK HIM SO BAD.

Okay, I'm going to do it. I'm going to ask him. I get up from my seat and make my way over to where he's standing. He looks up and gives a quick smile, the kind of obligatory smile one gives a random passerby. He has no idea of the request I'm about to make. I walk straight up to him and stand chest to chest. I'm sure he can feel my heart beating.

I want him to fuck me so bad.

I lean in and whisper my request in his ear, then pull away. His face registers shock, disbelief, I'm sure no one has been so direct before. Then, just as I'm sure he's going to decline, a smile starts to spread across his face. I see a hungry gleam come into his eye as he looks at my tits, moving up and down in rhythm with my now heavy breathing. No strings attached, I say out loud. He leans over and pulls the string for the next stop. The bus lurches, because it's right ahead. He pulls me by the hand out the door.

He wants to fuck me too.

FUCK. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can't even really string together a coherent thought. As his dick enters me again and again, pushed up against a wall down a deserted alley, all I can manage is this: I want to fuck him again later.