Complications...

I love artists, something about them using their talent to make other people feel good. Especially musicians, the tortured artist kind, just him and his guitar, accompanied by a husky imperfect voice…
Something about the way they caress their guitars and make them weep… Fast, strong fingers… Something about the way their slightly rough hands feel against my soft skin…
Musicians are sexy, one of my biggest weaknesses…

He’s friends with my brothers, with me; he’s one of the boys. But I can’t help myself, I look at him and I go weak in the knees. And he’s noticed. That’s how he knew I would kiss him back if he tried; he caught me staring once and saw it written all over my face…
It’s a bit wrong though, he IS one of the boys…
No one suspects a thing; my mum even lets him sleep over… Those are the best nights; we wake up in the middle of the night and make out in my room. We leave the bathroom light on in case someone wakes up because they’ll assume he’s in there…
Sometimes we just cuddle; I love how his body feels against mine. Hard, fit body, his manly cologne, surprisingly soft really warm skin… I love how tiny and protected I feel in his arms… I love how his skin is always really hot and mine is always really cold…
I love how he grabs me and pushes me against the wall when no one's in the room, kissing me hungrily and running his hands all over my body...
All it takes is one touch and I feel the familiar strain in my thighs. It’s torture when we’re not alone because I always just want to rip his clothes off and stare at his sexy body.
He’s lean and fit and has a chiseled torso…
He’s amazingly sweet, he listens to me even when I’m rambling and he does sweet things for me all the time… he makes me smile (=
He also, dear bloggers, has a girlfriend…
Sigh…

[Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song,
Killing me softly,
With his song, telling my whole life.
With his words,
Killing me softly,
With his song]