It's Saturday, at about noon. I pull up to your house, dressed spiffily in a shirt and tie. I hand you a dozen roses, and gently kiss your cheek. You look beautiful, dressed in your powder blue hoodie and sexy pants without back pockets. I tell you that you look great, better than I could have imagined. Even as I sit and write this letter to you, I imagine how you will look, and I know that my thoughts do your true form little justice.
We embrace, a warm hug, and our bodies hold each close, as if we will never let go. I feel the warmth of your breasts into my chest, and I feel happy and secure; you feel the tightness of my grip around your back, and enjoy the security as well. We both smile.
You let go, escaping from my hug. Taking my hand in yours, you lead me upstairs, smiling widely throughout the ascent. I keep speaking, asking you questions about what's been happening, and telling you about my experiences. But you tell me to hush as you close your bedroom door, and I obey.
A push against my chest with your hand puts me on your bed. I look around your room, and remember the last time I was here, and all the wonderful times we've had in this room. Playing The Sims 2, talking for hours, looking at your beauty as you sit in your chair, sleeping together. I cannot withhold a smile.
