Just Fuck Me Already Will You

It takes him forever just to meet my eyes. I think he is sexy and I like a challenge, so I flirt with him whenever I come into the office. Mostly because he seems shy so I think it'll unnerve him a little; partly because when you see somebody so calm like that, so even-keeled, you want to shake them up a bit. Throw them off balance, make sure they remember you. But then he looks me in the eye for the first time, and I think, damn. His eyes are blue.

I run into him in a coffee shop after work. We talk and I guess I'm making sense but I can't say for sure. My eyes are on his lips and all I'm thinking about is what it will be like when we kiss. I'm trying to work out the details. He has a beard, and I've never kissed a guy with a beard before. If I'm in heels, our heights match – he won't have to lean down. He has just smoked a cigarette; I taste like coffee. I wonder - if we kiss on a streetcorner, will still have his glasses on? I am trying to remember what that's like, kissing someone with glasses, the mechanics of it. My god, his eyes are so blue. He is wearing a hat, but I will figure out a way to rub my fingers through his bristly hair.

I see him in the hallway of the office. We stand and make small talk and I'm looking at his shirt, which is dark orange, button-down. He carries himself like he's heavier than he is – wide stance, arms away from his body. I imagine grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him towards me; kissing him, pushing his mouth open, my tongue on his. I unbutton his shirt in my head and picture what's underneath it. Dark hair, I think. Lots of it. Pinkish nipple, a little bit of belly. Broad shoulders. He doesn't know how how badly I want to press my face against his skin. I would kiss every part of him, nudge his thighs open, cradle his balls with my tongue, stroke the back of them with my fingertips. I would slide his cock all the way to the back of my throat and swallow. In my mind we are doing this on the floor of the hallway as people walk by, as he and I continue to talk, though about what, I can't remember. As he turns to walk away I am grabbing him and holding him fast, biting the back of his neck, reaching around to hold him, pulsing, in my fist. I would let you come all over me, I think, but he doesn't turn around.

I picture his apartment, which I have never seen, imagine us coming home, a little tipsy, and me on my knees in his doorway, the cold hard floor, his pants around his ankles, his fingers knotted in my hair.

He is sitting in front of me, at his desk. His eyes skim ever so briefly past my chest and I imagine him imagining me naked. I imagine tugging my shirt up over my head, unhooking my bra, pulling my skirt down. I could sit on the desk with my legs half open and his fingers slipping inside me, my fingers sliding over his. I would be so wet for you, I say under my breath, but he doesn't answer.

I clean my room, change my sheets, buy candles that smell like persimmon and vanilla. I shave my legs, which is wildly premature, since we haven't even exchanged numbers, never mind set up a date. I shave even more, which is only wishful thinking. Every night I come on myself, shaking; I rub myself harder and harder, until I'm dry and still burning up with lust. Some days I come home early just to touch myself; I don't even realize what I'm doing until I've thrown my bag on the ground and shut the door. I imagine sucking on his fingers, one by one. I imagine him taking me from behind. I make a mix for us to have sex to and masturbate to it. I try and guess what his favorite position is, if he has any fetishes. I would let him tie me up, but I think I'd be into tying him up even more. Out of my frustration, our imagined sex gets rough. I bite him, he pushes me down, shoves my legs up and plunges into me; I straddle him and we fuck for hours but I don't let him come til he begs.

Every morning I see him in the caféteria. It always takes me a second to say hello to him, because I am daydreaming about sucking him off. I think he knows I have a crush on him. He probably thinks that's sweet.