I still go to pieces when I think of him.
The politics of lust, of course, suggest he must never know that I want to jump on him and run my fingers through his hair. Oh no, oh no. That would give him too much advantage. Better he think I’ve never thought of him since, him and his lovely face.
I see his picture and immediately grin like an idiot; I see his name and I’m all aflutter. Oh! Oh, him! Oh, shit! Never mind! Wipe that smile right off.
Sometimes I wonder if we’ll run into each other. Wouldn’t that be exciting? And then, with a little successful flirtation, I could wrap myself around him and things would get really exciting, ahehe—christ calm down already.
I haven’t run into him and that’s probably a good thing. It’s probably a better thing that I don’t get involved with him. But.
I wanna I wanna I wanna!
He’s not a great person though.
Oh, he’s a delicious person!
Who said that?
It’s hard to tell which part of my body’s right about him, you know. I suppose if all the other organs are into it but there’s still opposition, the big NO is coming from my brain. One simply must listen to the brain.
“Still,” Brain offers. “Maybe we should give this one last try. Maybe it could be great.”
Even the smart organ’s a little iffy on the subject.
“Let’s do it!” screams the dumb organ. (Not so much dumb as, hm, single-minded?)
“Let’s try it!” yells the heart. “No, wait, bad idea, I’m fragile!”
“What do I do?!” screams Brain.
“I’ll pacify you!” offers stomach, and I have a delicious slice of coconut cream pie and forget about him for the time being.