That one position they can't stop picturing - Are YOU flexible enough to blow their mind ?
Rent free? Please. You're the landlord now ! They're paying in sleepless nights and sweaty fantasies. Every evening, those thoughts get darker, deeper, more desperate. Let's take a little tour of exactly how they dream of bending you over. I'll hold your hand… or maybe your hair ?
You are everything good this world has to offer, and somehow the last thing they will ever get to experience again.
I don't think you are remotely aware of the effect you have on this person. Most likely because they have never told you, and you are no longer in contact with them. If you are wondering whether you're flexible enough to blow their mind, just know that you're doing it already and they haven't experienced you in so long.
They ache for the feeling of your skin against theirs. They ache for your eyes to be filled with pleasure for them.
This person spends a great deal of time thinking about what you are like, how you sound, how you feel, how you react under their touch. They have this complicated relationship with the fantasy of you. Somehow, the thought of you has found its way into their every moment. I believe this person thinks of you every night. Sometimes, the thought of you comes at the most interesting timing, right before they climax, you come to mind, acting like the detonator to the bomb that is their pleasure. You seem to be the only thing that gets them there lately, and it frustrates them, because once again, no matter how far you are from each other, the effect is the same. They feel bound to you.
They hold a great deal of pride when it comes to you, retaining all this intimate information for their soul only, and not wanting you to know just how deeply your existence has anchored itself in their bones.
You haunt their spirit, whispering sweet nothings. They love to rest in the memory of the shape of your lips, the sound of your voice, and the way your eyes settled on them when you listened so attentively.
You blow their mind in so many ways, but it goes deeper than that. Not only do you blow their mind, you rule their psyche. You hold tight to their subconscious thoughts of you. They can't get you out of their head, partly because they don't want to, but mainly because they simply can't. Their yearning for you echoes on a cellular level, whispering your name to every molecule, every nerve, every silent breath they take.
And the worst part is they don't even know why. There is no logic to it, no reason that makes sense in the light of day. You are not theirs, and they are not yours. Maybe you never were. But that doesn't stop the pull, that invisible thread that ties their chest to yours across whatever distance separates you. It doesn't stop the way their body remembers yours better than their mind can recall its own name.
They have tried to let go. Tried to convince themselves it was just infatuation, just the echo of something that never really was. But the truth is stubborn. It sits heavy in their ribs, refusing to be reasoned with. You are not a memory to them. You are a presence. A constant. A soft ache that never fully fades, only quiets for a moment before rising again.
Sometimes they catch themselves smiling at nothing, and they know it is because something reminded them of you, a scent, a melody, a certain slant of light. And then they hate themselves for it, just a little, because they promised they wouldn't go there again. But promises mean nothing when it comes to you. They never did.
They wonder if you ever think of them. Not the way they think of you, they know that is impossible. But just a flicker. A passing thought. A moment where your mind drifts to them and lingers for a second too long. They would take that. They would take anything.
Because here is the thing, you are not just the last thing they will ever get to experience again. You are the only thing that ever felt real. Everything else is just noise. Just passing time. Just waiting.
And they will keep waiting. Even if they shouldn't. Even if it makes no sense. Because the thought of you, the ghost of you, the fantasy of you, it is the only thing that makes them feel anything at all.
And maybe that is the saddest part. Or maybe it is the most beautiful. They can't tell anymore.
Addictesd yet? Good. My master list is calling your name. Go on, you know you want to.
Something feels off here, like working against current. This person could be working against their own wishes when it comes to their desire for you, or the idea of you. You feel like a guilty pleasure, something that is out of reach and the only access they get to you is through the memories of you. The thought of you comes with some sorrow, they keep themselves from thinking about you so their heart can feel safe. They are bending their own minds trying to keep away from the thought of you.
But in those rare moments they let themselves savor the thought of you, they plan. How would they romance you? They wonder if you would let them have a taste of you, and shortly after the thought of your taste itself appears.
This person takes their work seriously, they want to perform and impress you, especially when they'll get to have a moment with you. These moments are already planned, the setting is picked, the joke they'll make when you open the door. They have rehearsed it all, every word, every pause, every glance, because they want to get it right. They want to be flawless for you, not because they need to be, but because you deserve nothing less.
But here is the thing, they are not fighting their desire because they hate it. They are not fighting it because it feels wrong or shameful. On the contrary, they love the way you make them feel. They love how alive you make them feel. They love that you are the only thing that can pull them out of their own head, the only thing that can make them forget the weight of the world. The passion is not a burden, the passion is the only thing that makes sense. It is the only thing that feels real.
What is a burden is not being able to be close to the person that makes them feel this way. That is the cruel part. That is what keeps them up at night. That is what makes their chest tight and their hands restless. They have all this fire inside them and nowhere to put it, no one to give it to, no way to show you what you do to them. And it is burning them alive.
They are getting impatient. They are getting hungry. Every second that passes adds more pleasure to the scale, tipping it closer and closer to the point of no return. The waiting is becoming unbearable, not because they cannot control themselves, but because they have been holding back for so long and the dam is starting to crack. Every day that goes by without you adds another layer to this thing between them, another layer of longing, another layer of need, another layer of raw, unspoken want that has nowhere to go.
And when the moment finally comes, when they finally get to see you again, they will have to bottle all of it. They will have to keep it together, to seem composed, to seem like they have not been counting the days, the hours, the minutes since the last time they laid eyes on you. They will have to pretend like they are not drowning in the thought of you, like they have not been rehearsing this moment in their head every single night. They will have to smile and make that joke and act like their heart is not about to explode out of their chest.
Because they are capable. They are capable of control, of restraint, of keeping it together when everything inside them is screaming to let go. They have proven that to themselves over and over again, through all the sleepless nights and all the times they wanted to reach out and didn't. They have built walls around their desire, not because they do not want it, but because they are waiting for the right time, the right place, the right moment when they can finally unleash it all on you.
But here is the thing, once those walls come down, it is impossible to know how it will manifest. All that restraint they have been building toward the thought of you, all that longing they have been holding back, all those nights they spent imagining what it would be like to have you, it will all come pouring out. And when it does, it will be overwhelming. It will be consuming. It will be unlike anything you have ever experienced.
They want to make sure you never think of another soul after the fact. They want to ruin you for anyone else. They want to leave a mark so deep, so permanent, that you will carry them with you for the rest of your life. The same way you are the only one inhabiting their heart, their mind, their body, their soul, they want to become that for you. They want to be the thought that haunts you, the memory that makes you smile in the middle of nowhere, the ghost that follows you into every room.
They want to be your obsession the way you are theirs. They want to be the only thing you crave, the only thing you need, the only thing that makes you feel truly alive. And they know that sounds intense, maybe even too much, but they do not care. They have spent so long holding back, so long being patient, so long waiting for the timing to be right, and they are tired of waiting.
They are ready. They have always been ready. They were ready the moment they met you, they were ready the moment they realized what you were doing to them, and they are still ready now, even after all this time and all this distance. The only thing that has changed is the intensity. The only thing that has grown is the hunger. The only thing that has deepened is the need.
And when they finally get to have you, when the timing finally aligns and the distance finally closes, they will not hold back. They will not bottle it. They will not pretend. They will let you see every single thing they have been feeling, every single thought they have been holding, every single piece of themselves they have been saving just for you.
Because you are worth the wait. You are worth every second of patience, every moment of restraint, every sleepless night spent thinking about you. You are worth the battle, the struggle, the fight against their own longing. And when they finally have you, they will make sure you know it.
They will make sure you feel it in every touch, every glance, every breath. They will make sure you understand that you are not just someone they want, you are the only one they have ever truly wanted. You are the only one that matters. You are the only one that has ever made them feel this alive.
And they will never let you go.
Addictesd yet? Good. My master list is calling your name. Go on, you know you want to.
The thought of you is like an escape, a vacation of some sort that helps them soothe their own soul. You feel like a god they worship, a silent prayer their heavy heart makes every night.
You blow their minds in all the different ways you show up in the world. You feel tall, no matter your actual height. Your aura brings the people you interact with in awe and they are no stranger to this reaction. You provoke a visceral longing, an unquenchable thirst, a longing that makes them feel pathetic when it comes to the genuine hunger they have for you.
They picture you in lace lingerie, in their room, waiting for them on their bed. But it is not about taking, it is about giving. It is about pleasing. It is about making you feel so good that you forget anyone else ever existed. On their knees for you, literally and figuratively. Looking up at you with devotion in their eyes and hearing you say that they did a good job, that they made you feel something no one else ever has. That is all they crave, your approval, your satisfaction, your pleasure.
You are so loved by so many. You are popular, admired, desired. Everyone seems to reach for you, to bask in your light. And they see it. They see how people flock to you, how they hang on your every word, how they do anything for just a moment of your attention. It makes you feel out of reach, like you could have your pick of anyone, like you have endless options and they are just one of many. And that thought terrifies them and excites them all at once.
To satisfy you to the extent that you only come to them for any future physical affection. To ruin you for anyone else in the best way possible. To be the standard, the benchmark, the one you compare everyone else to and find lacking. To be so deeply ingrained in your body, your mind, your soul, that you cannot imagine being touched by anyone else without feeling their absence.
The physical connection consumes them constantly, the way your skin feels under their fingertips, the warmth of your body pressed against theirs, the weight of you in their arms. Your breath on their neck, your hands tangled in their hair, your lips parting just slightly when they touch you just right. Hours of pleasuring you, hours of learning every inch of your body, hours of discovering what makes you sigh, what makes you moan, what makes you fall apart completely.
They have imagined it a thousand times, kneeling before you and taking your foot in their hands, gentle and reverent. Massaging the arch, the heel, the space between each toe, pressing their thumbs into the tension and feeling you relax under their touch. Working their way up slowly, kissing your ankle, your calf, the inside of your knee, savoring every inch of skin they are finally allowed to touch.
And then helping you out of your clothes, piece by piece, worshiping every new part of you that is revealed. Tracing the lines of your body with their lips, with their tongue, with their hands that are trembling just a little because they cannot believe you are real, cannot believe you are letting them do this. Taking their time, hours if you let them, because every single moment must be remembered.
Hovering over you for a moment, just looking, just taking you in, committing every detail to memory. The way the lace hugs your curves, the way your chest rises and falls with anticipation, the way your eyes meet theirs with that look that makes their knees weak. Tracing the edge of the lace with their fingers, feeling the heat of your skin beneath, teasing you, making you wait just a little longer.
Feeling your body thrusting into them, the desperation in your movements, the way you push against them seeking more, unable to get enough. Feeling your hips rolling against theirs, your hands gripping their shoulders, your nails digging into their skin because the pleasure is too much and not enough all at once. Feeling you ride them with those heels still on, powerful and commanding, using them for your own pleasure, chasing your release without hesitation.
Your body moving, your head thrown back, letting yourself go completely. The sounds you make, breathless and broken, their name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your body tightening around them, pulsing and shuddering as you come undone, collapsing against them, spent and satisfied.
But more than anything, they love the way you take what you need, the way you use them without reservation. They love the feeling of your hips slamming into theirs, the way you grip their thighs for leverage, the way you ride them like they were made for this. They love the desperation in your movements, the way you push harder and faster because you are so close and nothing else matters.
They love it when you are selfish. They love it when you use them for your own pleasure, when you take what you need without hesitation, without guilt, without worrying about them. They love it when you demand more, when you push them further, when you take everything they have and then ask for more. Nothing makes them happier than being consumed by you, being nothing more than a vessel for your pleasure.
They love watching you lose yourself completely. They love seeing the exact moment when you stop thinking, when you surrender to the feeling entirely. They love seeing your eyes roll back, your mouth fall open, your body tremble because the pleasure is too much and not enough all at once. They love being the reason you look like that, the reason you fall apart, the reason you cannot remember your own name. They love knowing that they did that to you, that they are the one providing that pleasure, that they are the one you chose.
They have prayed for you. Not in a religious way, not on their knees in a church, but in the quiet hours of the night when sleep will not come. They have whispered your name into the darkness, hoping somehow you would hear it across the distance. They have begged the universe, fate, anything that might be listening, to bring you back to them, to give them another chance, to let you see them the way they see you.
That is why they would make so much effort to assure this stays if it ever happens in the first place. If by some miracle you ever walked through that door, if you ever looked at them with that familiar warmth, if you ever let them touch you again, they would do everything in their power to make sure you never leave. They would be so good to you, so attentive, so devoted, that you would have no reason to look elsewhere. They would worship you in ways you have never been worshipped, love you in ways you have never been loved, pleasure you in ways you have never been pleasured.
They picture the way you would melt into them, the way your body would fit against theirs like it was always meant to, the way you would let them take care of you, protect you, love you. They picture the way you would finally understand, finally see, finally know just how much you mean to them.
Because you have always been home. You just did not know it.
But for now, they wait. They ache. They dream. They survive on the memory of you and the hope that one day, somehow, the fantasy will become reality. They keep you alive in their heart, in their mind, in every breath they take. And they will keep waiting, keep hoping, keep praying, until that day comes.
Addictesd yet? Good. My master list is calling your name. Go on, you know you want to.
