Wonderlust

As I sit here and I write the words I say to you, I know that I am false. My words speak of friendship and appreciation for all that you have shared with me, all that we have discussed, the bond that is still new yet seemingly strong and based on trust. Trust.

Would you still trust me if you knew you made me wet? Would you still tell me your sorrows or dreams or goals and thoughts if you knew I wanted to shove your cock so deep inside myself I scream from the thought?

I see you in my head. I have fucked you a hundred times in there.

Given the chance, what would I do? Would I? Could I?

My impression is that you are nice. I ruin nice. Nice gets in the way of lust, it fucks up a fantasy with emotion and loose ends, and I cannot be responsible for that...

Yet here I sit and still wonder, could I? Would I?

I honestly cannot answer that.