Skip to main content

Ode To Eyewear

I just want to know why it is that men keep looking at me with all those eyes?

Eyes, alone, sexy as all hell. I want nothing more than for a boy to stare at me with his so I can stare at him with mine. Kind of like a contest that I'm always hopeful no one ever has to win. Victory only means that we need to stop staring at each other. And why would I ever want to do that.

Add some extra eyes to the already awesome pair, and you've got yourself a weak-kneed girl. Does it make me kinky to find glasses so insanely attractive? Am I a freak nasty for wanting to kiss a boy senseless for being blind? I mean, I'm really sorry if you're near-eyed, far-eyed or just plain fucked in the cornea, but I feel like it should be okay for me to benefit from your problem.

If I could find a way to get a boy to keep their glasses on twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, I'd probably stay hot every day for the rest of my life. I understand that sex with a pair of lenses held by a piece of metal across your face might be a tad bit difficult, but can you do it for me?

Baby, let me love you down. But only if you got your eyewear on.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Eyeliner Sideburns

In another life, known as the age of 14, I had a big crush on a boy. Before I get started recalling any type of detail about the nature of our relationship - no relationship whatsoever, actually - I feel compelled to describe our differences in outward appearance. Jason, last name Whothehellknows, was a rather attractive specimen of boy. Tall, slender, rather nice hair, amazing glasses. He was probably the boy that got me started on my love of guys that wear glasses, actually. I liked them so much that I even renamed him. Pretty Glasses Boy he was dubbed, PGB for short and I was completely infatuate. So was the rest of the female student body, to be honest. He delivered letters and memos to other classrooms for the office and you could hear the murmur down the hall from the girls after he left a room. I, on the other hand, was on the other side of aesthetically pleasing. I was short, too skinny, and my hair was wrong. Come to think of it, when isn't my hair wrong? I digress. He...
1 comment
Read more

My words.

Words are the canvas for which the story is painted. The hues and colors your feelings. The reds. The greens. The blues. Smoldering. Tranquil. Melancholic. With a gentle brushstroke, the world is changed.
Post a Comment
Read more

Summer: Revisited

Summer Summer romance is a whirlwind that passes just as fast as it comes. On a hot summer day on the way to buy a jug of milk I met a boy outside the supermarket. He became my first boyfriend and he was perfect. He put up with me when I was angry. He gave me hugs when I was sad. He kissed my face when I felt lonely. That summer I was blind to anyone and everyone outside of what was us. Those who vied for my attention no longer existed. Everyday people on the street ceased to be seen. My world was him and he was my world and that is exactly what made it so devastating when my world exploded and everything that I ever had and ever loved was viciously ripped away from me. In the blink of an eye. Never to be seen again. Halfway through the summer I told him I loved him. “I love you,” I said. “I’ll love you today, I’ll love you tomorrow, I’ll love you for as long as I possibly can.” That’s what I told him. I said it so I meant it. He touched my face with his hands, those hands that I loved...
Post a Comment
Read more