If I was let out of my box, and it was February, and you had a week of vacation, I'd spend every last dime I had, and max out my credit cards, to take you far away. Someplace warm.
Not the Caribbean. Far to ordinary, that. No, some place romantic. Somewhere exotic. An island in the South Pacific. With white sandy beaches, and no one else around except waiters who appear only when we need them.
Every day we'd go to the beach, wearing nothing. I'd rub sun screen over every inch of your fair skin so you wouldn't burn. My own skin would turn reddish brown like it does in the summer.
We'd lie on towels on soft sandy beaches, soaking in warmth. Forgetting work. Forgetting responsibilities. When we became too warm we'd wade into the cooling water, splashing each other. Then standing in the water, we'd embrace. Our wet bodies would rub together. I'd watch your nipples harden. I'd see that lustful look in your beautiful green eyes, and I'd follow you back to the shore, watching your hips sway as you walked through the water. By the time we reached the beach I'd be fully aroused just from watching you walk.
You would lay back on the towel, and I next to you. I'd gently turn you over on to your stomach. I'd straddle your hips, and I'd massage more sun screen on you. I'd start at your neck, then across your shoulder blades, moving down to your mid-back. The entire time my erect cock would be resting along your gluteal cleft, sliding, just a little, lengthwise along it. Just enough to barely touch that soft sensitive spot between the cheeks.