Arsing About


I want to fuck him.

There, I've said it. Five simple words. I. Want. To. Fuck. Him.

How long have I waited for him? How long have I panted after that arse of his? That wonderfully decadent, curvy, gorgeously sexy arse.

He encases it in the tightest trousers he can find. They cling to every single muscle. They're so tight, you can tell his religion. Well, almost!

He saunters along, swinging his hips in the most alluring way. And he expects me not to look?

Well, he'd better not expect me not to touch, because he's bound to be disappointed!

He's watching me. Again.

And for goodness sake! Why is it always my arse? Don't I have other areas of appeal?

What about my...chest? Personally, I think I have delightful pectorals!

And...what about...oh fuck, what about everything else on me, other than my arse?

I know he likes it...he always follows me up stairs. Just to leer at my arse.

Just wish he would look elsewhere. Like my cock, for instance. My cock is always hard for him. He wants him so bad, its untrue!

He's getting twitchy now, and if Bodie isn't careful, my cock and I will pounce.

-- THE END -

21 May 2004

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