I’m sick of feeling this way; I’m tired of being unable to think of anything else.  My reality is being bombarded by daydreams.  It’s a good thing mind readers aren’t real, or I’d be in trouble.  Even my fantasies are becoming more illicit, like they have to up the ante after a certain amount of time.  I feel like I’m being controlled completely by this overwhelming want, and I’m going to explode if I can’t find a way to release it.

It’s pathetic, too, because I’m utterly incapable of verbalizing it to him – hell, I haven’t found a way to fully verbalize the completeness of it to anyone – much less act on these impulses.  My brain, my hormones, my body, are stuck in this state of craving.  I can’t seem to get enough.  Satisfaction is fleeting.  As soon as it hits, the want begins again – and I want more.  I don’t want to rely on fantasy.  I want reality.  I want him in my reality.  I want his hands on my ass, lips on my breast, hip thrusting, can’t form coherent thoughts, reality.  I want locked eyes and moans, locked lips and release.  The daydreams used to be enough – a private movie I could mentally play for my own enjoyment.  Now, they play when I should be focusing elsewhere, and they just can’t keep me happy.

When he’s next to me, I ache for contact, for the distance between us to close.  But I’m so fucking awkward that I’m incapable of doing it myself.  See?  Pathetic.  I crave that small sign that he may want me too.  That I may be enough for him.  So I sit, and I make conversation, and I try to keep my fantasies at bay so I can hear what he has to say.  And I urge him to catch on, to pick up on my desire to jump him right there.  To straddle him, to grind my hips into his, and to whisper into his ear just how much I want him. 

When I saw him last, I happened to catch a glimpse of his hands first.  The first thing that popped into my head, I kid you not, was how good those fingers would feel sliding in and out of me.  How much I wanted to feel them right then.  That instant yearning for more overcame my mind, but, of course, I did nothing.  I smiled, and we talked about inane things, and I hid the lust I felt. 

I don’t know what to do now.  But I need some relief that is longer lasting than what I have now.  The pent-up tension, the lust, the mind-numbing ache to feel his weight above me, his hands exploring me, every inch of him deep inside of me, is driving me absolutely crazy.  I’m sure someone else could fill in, but that’s not who I want. Hormones suck.

Here I am, awkward and feeling ridiculous about trying to make a brazen move, even though the me in my head is totally okay pushing for what she wants.  A huge roadblock, stopping that girl from presenting herself to him, is the fear of rejection.  The what-if of putting myself out there and learning that he has absolutely no interest in me – that no amount of fantasizing on my part will change that.  So I remain plagued by dirty thoughts, a veritable slave to my own imagination, with no more than a fleeting release.  What is wrong with me?  My id needs to back the hell off and let me catch my breath.

12:37am  15.9.11