Boobies (working title)

Love.

I'm just going to put this right out on the table: this, right here, is likely the most basic, most teenaged-boy letter that I've ever written for you, or will ever write to you. So… just to, I dunno, counterbalance things a bit, let me first say…

I love you. I will never stop being stunned by your beauty. I will never stop wanting to talk to you. I want to not only see your Hobbit hole decoration when it's finished, but to help you make it. I want to brew beer using hops from your garden for the rest of my life. I want to keep being inspired to improve myself just from you dropping a random mention here and there. I want to see that beautiful face, whether it's smiling or frowning or anything in between, every single day. I just want to be with you. I want to be yours. Simple.

But, love.

I have not been able to get the image of you, in that sweater, out of my mind since you dropped off those plants…

It is well established both here and (apparently) out in the real world that I am a butt man… and lord have mercy do I love that thing you've got… but, love. Love.

I am a man, and sometimes? Sometimes?

Sometimes I just want to put my mouth all over those perfect breasts of yours.

Hold them in my hands. Get you straddling my lap so you can put them right in my face.

Kiss your sternum, then work my lips down to just above your belly. Then back up, first the left… then the right…

Have you lean back a bit so I can just look at them. Take them in. Memorize their exact (perfect) shape, the exact (perfect) color of your nipples.

Before pulling you back in so I can suck on your neck while I feel them pressed against my own chest…

My god, you are so perfect, so lovely, so beautiful, so fucking sexy it hurts. Every single inch of that perfect skin does me in. Your arms, those legs… My god, your back, so perfectly exposed by that lovely green dress…

Someday, I will explore every single bit of you. Soon. My lips, my fingertips…

Oh, my sweet, lovely lady… I am so in lust with you. You have no idea of what you do to me. None at all.

…but I can't wait for you to find out.

Yours.

PS - Ummmmmm… sooooo… if you wonder what I was doing on my laptop when you wandered over the other night… I was, uh, writing this… um… letter. But after we chatted… my heart was overfull, and while the, um, baser feelings have not diminished even a bit… I found myself re-focused on my love for you. Still am. But, hey… I wrote this, and it does accurately capture part of my feelings for you from that day (and every single day), so… Here it is!