2003-04-28 - 2:52 p.m.
Somebody help me; I'm turning into a sexaholic.
Wait, that's not right. That would assume I want to have sex all the time. I'm more just thinking about it and thinking about it (and damn!) thinking about it.
I have a fixation with certain parts of mens' bodies. No, not the usual parts - I'm not much of an ass girl, for example - but lord, the right pair of hands. The right pair of thighs. Humma humma. I need a minute.
J has good, good man-legs. They're strong, they're hairy (surprising, considering he's Japanese-American), and he doesn't think I'm a freak for staring at his calves in shorts.
His hands, sadly, are not as good. Days of prepping 30 pounds of leeks don't lead to sexy hands. They're not bad, for instance, they could be the hands of the first man I slept with: pasty, short-fingered, and with tiny, tiny moons for nails. J at least has man-hands. The First Guy had chubby teenage girl hands. (Not his fault; he was a sensitive, intelligent guy.)
Now I recognize it's ridiculous for me to lust after someone because of their thighs, their calves or their finger length. And I also know that I'm no sexpot. I still think J's crazy for finding me sexy. (Of course, he also liked me naked 40# ago, which is utterly ridiculous.) And maybe I'm a hypocrite.
But sheesh, there's This Guy? The K Guy? His site included a picture a while back. Of legs. And hands. And I haven't stopped drooling yet.
This must be what it's like to be a 14-year-old boy.
"I'm 17. Looking at lineoleum gets me hot."--paraphrased from Xander, "Buffy..."
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former / latter