So...the hunk across the way apparently already has a love-lust interest. My chances of ravishing his body are a dwindling by the moment. Well, if that don't beat all.
I suppose I knew this was possible. Not that my nameless neighbor would get his own potential boo-bunny-sex slave just when I was warming up to him. But that I've created a post that leads to another post. So be it.
He really is completely lust-worthy. To the point that if even says anything else to me, I'm just going to jump on him. Nobody ovulates THAT much.
I think I must blame everything on ovulating. How else do I explain my lingering thoughts and sudden tinges of envy? Just when I was ready to flaunt my feminine wiles and let nature take its course. Hmph. That heffa.
All I know is that he just better not come around me talking and smiling, or I'm just gonna pass out and let him let me have my way with him.
Scene set up:
Me: Walking to the mailbox is bare, freshly pedicured feet, wearing a white camisole and black yoga pants. (I'm still fine enough to pull it off.)
Him: Just happening to be coming home from work. Flashes smile. Says something. It doesn't matter what.
He holds the door. I "clumsily" drop my mail, and perform one of those kneel down to pick it up in slow motion moves. Smiling on the way down and on the way back up. He says something else. I jump his bones right there at the mailbox.
Okay. Well, yeah. That needs work.
I suppose I knew this was possible. Not that my nameless neighbor would get his own potential boo-bunny-sex slave just when I was warming up to him. But that I've created a post that leads to another post. So be it.
He really is completely lust-worthy. To the point that if even says anything else to me, I'm just going to jump on him. Nobody ovulates THAT much.
I think I must blame everything on ovulating. How else do I explain my lingering thoughts and sudden tinges of envy? Just when I was ready to flaunt my feminine wiles and let nature take its course. Hmph. That heffa.
All I know is that he just better not come around me talking and smiling, or I'm just gonna pass out and let him let me have my way with him.
Scene set up:
Me: Walking to the mailbox is bare, freshly pedicured feet, wearing a white camisole and black yoga pants. (I'm still fine enough to pull it off.)
Him: Just happening to be coming home from work. Flashes smile. Says something. It doesn't matter what.
He holds the door. I "clumsily" drop my mail, and perform one of those kneel down to pick it up in slow motion moves. Smiling on the way down and on the way back up. He says something else. I jump his bones right there at the mailbox.
Okay. Well, yeah. That needs work.
