The White Rabbit

He looks at me like he wants to kill me or fuck me. Or maybe kill me while he's fucking me.

He's The White Rabbit. He 28. He's a musician. He makes me swoon.

I named him The White Rabbit because he said he wants to take me down the rabbit hole into Wonderland. I'm Alice and I followed him like a curious little girl who should know better, but can't help myself.

He's not crazy. He's not out there. He's the kind of guy I'd notice at a coffee shop and think was attractive but would pass him by, thinking he wouldn't be into me. He looks like the type that would be with the understated girls. The girls who dress down, who aren't stunning, yet have something about them that makes you take a second look. The well read girls. The smart ones.

Certainly not a frou frou ditzoid like myself.

WR is absolutely fascinated by my over the top look. How the polka dots on my mails match the toes match the bag match the shoes. How the red in the hair flower matches the bra matches the bow on the stockings. He calls me his pin up bombshell. He likes showing me off.

I always giggled at the term, "oozes sexuality." I don't like to think of sex and things that ooze. That's not a good image. WR is walking, talking sex. He's quiet. He's thoughtful. He's super confident, but not douchey. The sex is in his gaze. The way he carries himself. The way he speaks. It's careful, yet it's unpredictable. It's dangerous. It's comforting.

I know little about him, yet I know him. I can read him. He can read me. We spend long moments staring into each others eyes. Or just staring at each other. Letting our eyes wander up and down and take it allll in.

We've been out a few times. He's showed me his haunts. Last time I saw him he showed me his apartment. And his bedroom.

He let me in.
I resisted.
Then I gave in.

I'm slightly annoyed by the whole thing. He was supposed to be icing. Whip cream. Candy. Tasty but empty. Fun but meaningless. The guy is now in my head. I want him out. I don't want to think about him. I don't want to want him. But I do.

I cant stop thinking about when he walked me to my car. We were in the courtyard of his apartment complex, which sits above a busy street. Our skin seemed to glow from the full moon above. He kissed me. His hands wandered up my skirt. His fingers dipped into my panties and slid inside of me. It would be obvious to anyone walking by or anyone looking out their window what we were doing. He put his fingers in my mouth and kissed me around his hand. Then he pulled me to him and stroked my hair and whispered, "You are so fucking beautiful. I could easily fall for you."

Then we walked in silence to my car, stopping every few moments to face each other and stare. We confessed we were overwhelmed. Saturated. It was just too much and we needed to be part and be away from each other. AS soon as we said that we were embracing and kissing frantically on the street.

This could get out of hand.

I'm fascinated.