If it was shit, you wouldn’t find yourself thinking about it when you’re alone. Replaying scenes in your head and constantly going over how he felt.
You wouldn’t wake up in the morning knowing you’ve dreamt about it and then spend the rest of the day obsessively going over and over it in your mind.
You wouldn’t get turned on at just the memory of it if it was shit.
But here you are, laying in bed, thinking about his hands on your skin and you can feel your breathing getting shallower and your heartbeat getting faster as you remember how good his touch feels.
If it was shit, like you partly hoped it would be, you wouldn’t already be thinking about the next time he’ll be between your legs, running his hands over your body and telling you all the things you want to hear.
If it was shit, like it is with most of the others, you wouldn’t even think twice about doing it again … and again and again. You wouldn’t be replaying in your mind every position he had you in or how good he felt and now you’re laying here already dying to feel him again.
It’s hard isn’t it, because if it had been shit, the thought of him on top of you while you buried your face into his shoulder wouldn’t drive you to a point of almost being late for work. Distracted to a point of no easy return.
You wouldn’t find your hands wandering down in between your legs as the memories flood your brain, because if it had been shit, you wouldn’t get turned on thinking about the groans he let out when you reminded him how good you are with your mouth, or the sensation that overwhelmed your body as he trailed kisses across your skin.
Laying in bed, reminiscing over his hands being around your neck and listening to him tell you how good you feel, has provided you with what seems like a never ending array of visual memories to get yourself off to and it makes you realise …..
If it had been shit, it would be easy not to want it again. But it wasn’t shit, in fact it was the total opposite. So you just wait, for the “come to mine” message because you love doing what he asks (in part).
And that’s almost annoying.