I sit close to you, watching you intently in everything you do. I listen to you breathe, I watch your eyes skim the web-page, all I can do is concentrate on all that is you.
After conversing online for over three years, I have finally come to see you and have not been disappointed. I've loved you for so long. If only you could know how my body aches for yours.
I ask you questions about what you are doing . . . lots of questions. I have learned that the more interested I am in what you do, the more interested you are in being around me and talking to me.
I lean in closer, completely absorbed in your movements. Everything you do is beautiful, magical. I ask another question, you turn to answer it and your face is a fraction of an inch from mine. The moment is a bit tense at first, but you answer the question and we laugh to lighten the mood.
I move from my seat beside you and stand behind you. I watch what you are doing as I put my hands on your shoulders then start rubbing your back. You stop typing quite as quickly and, fearing that I may distract you, I pick a book up off of the floor and carry it to the bed with me.
I start skimming the pages, but stop when you sit on the bed next to where I am laying. I stick my tongue out at you and start flipping through the book once again. I'm not paying much attention to what the headers of the pages say, because I am contemplating the current situation. As it is still technically our first meeting, even though I have spent the last week with you, things are still a little tense, but I am unsure of how to relieve the tension.
I lay my head on your lap as I skim through the book to see if I can find anything worthwhile. What I notice is that the growing bulge in your pants seems to be pretty worthwhile. I look up at you and your face is a mixture of embarrassment and smiles.