Know that I’m thinking about your pussy.
Know that I can see your thighs, your panties, whenever I close my eyes. Fuck that, even when they’re open.
That I keep imagining I smell you, the sweaty, sweet, musky scent of your cunt, at surprising, unexpected moments. Like when I just walked into a coffee store and smelled what turned out, predictably, to be coffee.
That I find myself involuntarily making a “come here” gesture with a finger as I imagine just what I’d do if that finger were inside you, inside your slippery, wet, cunt.
That I want to pick not one item, but every item, of clothing that you wear tomorrow, so we can share in the knowledge that your body is enveloped in compliance with my wishes.
That I want – no, that I need – so much from you.
Do you know that?