F'real.

You know, babe.

I know I talk a good talk.

I know I walk around in this cathedral of words, strutting my stuff.

But do you know what's really gonna happen the first time I get my hands on you?

(first dozen times… hundred, maybe?)

I mean… really?

Pretty sure this is how it's gonna go down.

I'm gonna hug you, hold you in my arms.

Maybe I'm gonna pull back, look you in those eyes that wreck me over and over and over again, every time I see them.

Maybe I'll press my lips to yours.

Maybe two layers of denim won't be enough to stop you feeling exactly what your body, what your soul, what your you does to me.

Maybe one of my hands will start gliding down, a groan escaping me as I trace my fingers down your back and feel the rest of you pressed–hard–against me.

And then, babe. Then this is what's gonna happen.

That hand is gonna find your butt.

And it's gonna grab it.

And caress it.

And savor the feel, the shape, the gravity of it.

And then that'll be it.

I'll be done.

Cooked.

What I'm sayin' is, I'll need a fresh pair of undies.

And you'll likely find yourself torn between giggling and being disappointed at how fast it all happened.

But never fear, my love.

You got all I need to get back into the game.

Just get those jeans off.

Pull those panties to the side.

And let me taste you, taste you, taste you.

And I promise you…

I'll be ready to do somethin' else to you in no time.

No time at'all.

You know.

Just warnin' ya.

Wanna manage your expectations and all that.

And until then?

Guess I'll build up my undies collection.

‘cuz pretty sure I'm gonna need it.

YOURS.

PS–Prolly not a bad idea for you to grab a few extra pair, you know. Just… in case.