The other night, I had a casual encounter with the sexiest man I’ve ever been with: blond, blue eyes and a beard that made him look like a young Norse god. He was so attractive that I was intimidated to do anything until he pulled me into him for a kiss.
Within minutes, our clothes were off. Everything about him was sexy to me, his body, the way he smelled, how way he grabbed and kissed me.
I don’t recall a time that I ever wanted someone as much as I wanted him. After we had sex, we laid together in bed, my head on his chest. We talked about work, life, whatever — it didn’t even matter as I would have been equally enraptured if he read to me from a takeout menu. I didn’t want him to leave. I would have moved back to New York, where he lives, if he asked me to.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him for the next two days. I would take naps in the afternoon just to daydream about him and fantasize about him being back in my bed.