It's a Wednesday. The shittiest day of the week. It's endless. You're tired, people won't fuck off, and you've been too busy dealing with all that shit to message me more than good morning. You hate that. You hate days that force you far away from what makes you happy.
Tired, and sick of the world, you walk to your car in the cold and dark, smoking a cigarette and wishing you were anywhere else but this place.
You reach your car and there's a note stuck to the windshield.
"Close your eyes" is all it says.
Suddenly, everything seems brighter, clearer. You close your eyes and take a sharp, ragged breath in. "Thank god" you think into the foggy void of your brain.
Small soft arms wrap themselves around you from behind, a forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. Your shoulders drop as all the muscles you use to carry the world relax, but conversely, the muscles in your stomach, under those small hands, contract, like they're trying to pull those hands in closer.
"Oh my love", I say, "You've had a hard day, haven't you?"
With no permission to speak, you can only nod, as I slowly stroke your chest and stomach.
"If I let you turn around, do you promise to be good? You may only touch my hair and face."
Another nod, and then you turn and I immediately bury my face in your neck. Your hands are twitching. You want to hold me, and stroke me, and love me with those hands. Your need is a flavour on the air. But you are my best most patient boy.
