the slightest touch

Everybody tells you that your first kiss is the best thing ever. Or that sex is so addictive. I think otherwise. It isn’t the kiss that gets to me, but the time before I know it’s gonna take place. It isn’t the sex that turns me on, but his knowing smile and the glint in his eyes. When our lips slightly graze each other and he pulls back to tease me. When he reaches over and ‘accidently’ brushes his hand over my breast, or down my spine. When he blows slowly behind my ear or strokes the inside of my thigh. That’s when I melt. He makes sure that his hand slightly brushes mine, then turns around and pretends like it was an honest mistake. He loves to see me squirm and is elated when it’s in public. Bastard. He always manages to stand next to me, in a room full of people and I know it’s cause he’s itching to touch me. And that turns me on. He loves to see me shudder with wanting and for some reason I play this game with him again and again. It’s isn’t the act that takes place that gets to me, always the seconds before it takes place. When our bodies are inches from each other and his face tilted towards mine. It’s the slightest touch that gets to me…always.