I look at him and he is not my type. He’s not frail, but he’s closer to it than anyone I have ever slept with before.
He has the laugh. The laugh is what makes a person my type. It’s a wholehearted belly laugh. It’s a laugh that happens without any type of cover up anytime of shame. It’s open throated and jolly, but not fat like a Christmas time character, or someone watching TV alone. It’s the type of laugh that is sounded in front of people, but not for people.
He has the laugh. And when he makes that sound, the laughing sound. I want to kiss him. More than that, I want him to take off my shirt and kiss me, not just on my lips. When he laughs I can smell him and me and I can smell him and me.
But I eat toast, and he eats corn chips. And we drink our water but we’ve run out of whiskey.
And I'm laughing. Because I’ve seen this before.
But, I have never been so aware of the turn on while lips turn up.
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