jake shears can diddle my skittle

lately, i find myself lusting after jake shears. this is something that occurs at least three times a day.

i feel like this is such an obvious thing to admit. cliched. who doesn't think jake shears is a first-class sex bomb? it's like saying, 'oh, look. the sky is blue'.

i mean, cum on. that boy is asking to be fucked by me.

i usually shy away from the slightly androgynous glam rocker types. their insufferableness tend to be at a magnitude that is nothing short of galactic. but this boy screams sex. blistering sex. bad, dirty sex.

i imagine us in a seedy motel. bedsheets flung off. a lamp shade askew on the post. a table tipped over, perhaps one of its legs is broken.

the hotel room smells of semen and cigarettes. i'm wearing a white tee - it's damp against my skin and there are several rents in it. one sleeve is ripped completely off. his face is beaded with perspiration - locked in a rictus of ecstasy. his shirt? tatters.

we are both naked from the waist down, crouched over the bed - a full length mirror propped directly at its foot. my ass hovers over his.

thrusting.

a fantasy, of course. i have a greater chance of winning the 100 million lottery (all based on random numbers) while sidestepping a lightning strike that hits the convenience store. twice.

it's not going to happen.