Wasted Time

So today instead of working I spent an hour fantasizing. I thought of B. and how she would look on my bed. I imagined the cream of my sheets beneath her and the spread of her hair fanned across my pillow. I thought of the coital bounce and shuffle, her arms around my neck, her legs pressed into my thighs; the sighs that we would exhale. I spent more time, however, thinking of her afterward, her perky breasts underneath my stroking fingertips, the small upturn of her lips, the excitement and joy in her eyes. I imagined us lying there for a while, stroking each other and chatting, joking about the day or the circumstance, slowly building each other up for another, slower, fuller round.

I woke up from my reverie and realized that I had things to do and not much time to do it. My heart was beating in my chest, it still is. I felt like I had lost something terribly beautiful because it was only a mid-afternoon reverie and not an extension of reality. It is hard to love the situation one is in while yearning so hard for something else, something new and exciting and dangerous as B. Already I cannot wait to see her again. Alas for the cruel drag of time.