"Come here." He pulls me onto his lap and whispers something incoherent in my ear. It's been two months, two months far too long. He puts his lips to mine and I eagerly bite back. He tastes like cigarettes and whiskey, more specifically, scotch (his drink is scotch, neat, chased with a side of beer); it is intoxicating. He runs his hand up my leg and breathes onto my neck. I pull on his belt buckle, both of us shaking. Through the haze I can see people watching us, but with the alcohol coursing through our veins, it is impossible to stop. I am a drug addict and he has the good stuff. For two months I was shaking in a cold sweat in the corner, trying to stave off the withdrawals and the aching in my stomach with cheap imitations of the real thing. But he was here now, and willing to give it all to me.
He unbuttons my shirt and slides his hand down my throat. I can't take it anymore. He picks me up and we stumble into my room. Our clothes are off in seconds and he has me up against the wall, unable to wait until we get to my bed. His tongue traces my nipples as he pushes inside me and screams erupt from my mouth. He pulls me to the bed and I push him on his back. His cock is perfect; long and full, smooth and rock hard. I worship it with my mouth, with my throat, with my body. I want (need) all of him and he obliges. We go for hours; each thrust an unbearable thrill traveling in waves down to my toes.
I wake up the next morning to the sadly sobering sunlight pouring in through my window,mocking me and taunting me with the knowledge that in a few hours he will be gone again. He is curled around me and I pray that the afternoon doesn't come.
He wakes up and kisses me. Time for another fix. He climbs on top of me and right before he is inside of me, our friends burst in the door;singing it was time for breakfast, as if we didn't have anything better to do. He rolls off of me and we get dressed. I feel like someone punched me in the gut.
The whole time we are eating I'm already jonesing for more. But time is a cruel and jealous mistress and she steals him from me once again all too soon. He gives me one long, deep kiss goodbye and just like that he is gone; like a fleeting dream that makes me want to sleep again. On the drive home the withdrawals are already starting; I fight to keep my breakfast down. A single text message that reads, "I miss you already" is all I have to keep me going for another two months.