Waiting for G

I am sat in my bed, my hair in a plait, listening to the whirr of my heating. The candle flame dancing on the drawers casts a flickering light across the wall and enhances my anticipation. Waiting for G to arrive is like waiting for the bath to fill. It is filled with longing. Longing to feel his warmth around me; the prospect of his loveliness exciting. Waiting to sink beneath the waves of his love, with the scent of him all about, only serves to heighten my sensitivity to the cold air of my room. I nestle further under the bed-covers and finish out my wait. Like the filling bath G always takes too long.