seen from Brazil
seen from Singapore
seen from Australia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Costa Rica
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Armenia
seen from India
seen from Singapore
seen from Netherlands
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Philippines
seen from United States
seen from United States
The whiskey convinced him you wouldn’t show tonight. But you did. Wearing that dress. He watches you cross the room, feels his pants growing tighter at the sight of you. His eyes linger. So do yours. You offer the first smile. He finishes it.
Haunted by his huge hands. Imagine that hand on your knee under the table in a restaurant, on your bare thigh while you sip whisky together at a bar, slipped between your legs for comfort while he drives you home. Sigh.
You slowly awake in the morning, roll over in bed, and see this:
Imagine Francisco tinkering in the garage, and you bring him a cold beer. You’re wearing a cute sundress with the top buttons undone. He takes a swig, then presses the cold bottle against your throat to cool you off. You undo the rest of your buttons. The bottle follows, and he licks the condensation from your flushed skin.
You’d been the one to ask him to dinner, finally ready after all these years to verbalize how you feel about him. He listens intently, seriously, wholeheartedly. He doesn’t laugh, or make an excuse to leave, like you were afraid would happen. Instead, he reaches for your hand, and quietly asks if you can talk about this privately at his apartment. He has some things he’d like to share with you, too.
Javier, when asked if he loves you
After-work drinks, your best friend nudging you under the table, silently letting you know a guy at the bar can’t keep his eyes off you.
You tentatively turn around, make eye contact, and smile.
