It was a small crack in that there was no physical contact, but he brought it up. I was freezing in our freezing office and said as much. His response, "I know what we can do to get warm."
We sit close, our legs touch, our arms touch, we exchange knowing glances with cocked smiles. We are in love with this dangling lust.
He's like a skittish deer though, I didn't jump at his off-the-cuff suggestion - he made his decision to not engage very clear, if he wants to change his mind, he's going to have to be much more direct.
But, oh, the relief of him just talking about it. Jesus.
"Do you still think about it?" he asked.
"Of course" I answered aloofly. "You?"
"Yeah, you are still very attractive and it's hard not to when your boobs are in my face."
"Oh, are they? Huh, gees... I hadn't realized" I laugh.
He didn't make a move and nor did I. I guess we'll just let that sit there a little longer.
Of course, we all know the layer, the slight film, of passionate complexity this leaves upon my skin. I fight to reject the want to imagine him on my skin once again. His lips, his hands, his passionate aggression.
We have an event next weekend, I had already decided on the dress I would wear and wasn't sure he was attending and so felt confident that I wasn't wearing the ba-boom dress for him. But now I know that he will be there and he is indeed still attracted, he still thinks of me in that way, he is tempted, and I can't help but be predatorily pleased that if he thought my boobs were in his face before - he hasn't seen this dress.
I am a predator. This appears to not be by choice but by instinct. An instinct that is difficult to reject. Doing so is like rowing my boat up the stream, not down.
He, too, is a predator.
Whereas my predatoril actions seem to fall towards luring my prey into my den and then devouring him and spitting him out, his are to encourage the lure and to create a false sense of empowerment in me. However, once in the den, he will attempt to flip the game. He will appeal to the girl in me, foster an illusion of relationship, thus allowing him to exit the den unscathed.
Or something of that sort-ish-y.
Be that as it may, nonetheless, and having said that... I am, on one side, satiated by the speaking of the words, by the white elephant being acknowledged. On the other side, I am - even more so than last week - sweating desire, lust, and hunger.
I might explode.
