He's not the most good-looking guy, and certainly doesn't have that David Tennant, skinny-Euro thing I like. But I'm buying condoms and waxing my crotch because the boy can write. He has got this subtle email seduction thing right down to the ground. If the live meeting is half as good as the email exchange, I may lose my ability to speak.
I wonder if I'm being a fool, falling for lines that, when analysed, aren't really all that creative. But he's the first person who has bothered to write these lines to me. I have decided the enjoy the sexy little butterflies I get when I read his messages. I have decided to take this for what it is. A fun night, where I am an alluring woman and he is an avid suitor. And maybe we both get our rocks polished, or whatever the kids are saying these days.
As a side benefit, I'm getting better at sexy writing. I think this has been lacking in many of my attempts at fiction, so now that I have a bit more practice, I think I'll be able to create better characters. I'm certainly more creative with the double entendres -- they aren't all penis-shaped anymore. I've just sent off a message making good use of the phrase "come to you," if I do say so myself.
Can't wait for the reply. I've got rocks to polish.
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