Because when he is I can only think of one thing.

That one naughty yet delightful thing.

His skin on mine.

Creating heat hotter than the summer sun.

Voice in my ear.

Breathing.

Whispering.

Breathing quicker...

And quicker...

I can't focus if he's near.

He can't speak without my eyes on his lips.

His perfect pout.

Perfect shape.

Shiny from his tongue.

His teeth are just right there...

To bite with...

To bite my lip...

my neck...

Bite harder.

Baby.

Harder still.

He can bite me anywhere I don't care.

His hands are my weakness.

Cryptonite.

The way they hold mine above my head.

The way those strong hands make me small and obedient.

Willing to go anywhere.

Anywhere with him.

My handsome guilty pleasure.

I tell him to stay away.

Just far enough.

Otherwise I can't think.

I can't fucking think.

The bed all white.

Cloud white.

My heaven on earth.

It's unmade.

A reminder of what was just hours ago...

That sly smile.

Those green eyes inches from mine...

Reading my dirty mind.

Mundane like a clock stuck ticking away, in stark digital numbers rather than heavy pendular beats. Sickly neon-green, or a black needle stuck forever in a circle, day in, day out, seven AM to five. Yessir, yessir, the daily grind. The rat-a-tap of keyboards or a scale weighing this, that, and the other thing. Necessary, pay the bills good citizen, thine ever-loving Deity of Mortgage demands his tithe.

Ah, but to write.

Glorious cursive pen-strokes. Just because it looks prettier on thin college-ruled sheets, let's be honest honey, you type faster than your longhand. Pages and pages and portals on each. Thine blessed genres, fantasy to tragedy, what's your fancy tonight? Doesn't matter. The wretched clock has reverted, old grandfather, and that smiling sun is once more painted behind lazily roving golden hands. No hurry, no worry, calm the hustle and think. Make worlds with a pen. Make 'em dance, make 'em sing, make 'em die. Their blood, your ink. Oh corpse of monotony, oh decaying imagination, time to rev up the engines as we seat ourselves in the holy chair. Hallowed desk awaits. Be as flowery as you wish, as silly as you want, as open, as poignant, as verbose. Whoever said escapism was unhealthy never gave this a try. It's time to come alive.

Ah, but to write, now that is a pleasure.

Before I tell you what my guilty pleasure is, first know that I am a young girl that is exactly 5 ft tall and look like I'm 12 even though I'm not. When people first meet me they all say "aww, you're so cute" in a condescending baby-cute way. Keep this in mind as I say that my guilty pleasure is: rap music.

I really don't know why, I hate the lyrics most of the time but something about makes me feel alive. Anyways, that's what it is.

He comes with full intention of seeing her and I take part of that for my own selfish ways.

Whenever I am by his side

I get high on his cologne

That special cologne he put on just for her

I get drunk on his smile

The one that only exists when he's with her

I lust to be near him

Even to only stand by his side

I yearn to be in, if only, the same room has him.

I know it's not right and I should let go of something- someone who could cause only disaster in the end but I'm addicted to everything about him.

I'm in too deep. There's no going back.

I'm not sure I want to...

Is that bad? Perhaps.

Yes he brings me such pleasure but I'm guilty of it because I know it's not right. But I can't help myself. I try to stop but that just seems to hurt more and I hate myself for saying so because I know how selfish that is, to not want to stop because it hurts me when if I were to continue it would only hurt the ones I love. But I'm addicted to everything about him...I'm in too deep...and there's no going back...

I must admit I have many; though I suppose I will narrow it down to one. Currently? A hot shower is my guilty pleasure - one I am sure the rest of the family hardly appreciates!

The hot water relaxes me, the steam fogging the mirror, making it hard to see. But the heat warms me, clears my head as the water washes away the daily grime and I can simply relax after a stressful day.

My other guilty pleasures? Those, I will save for another day...

There is only one guilty pleasure, and there are many pleasures in life which I freely and openly indulge, coffee - strong (despite my bad ticker), sugar, salt, junk food and being extremely slothful when I can get away with it.

But one pleasure alone is my passion, my dream, my guilty pleasure - chocolate in all its many guises whether it comes in the form of a mousse, a cheesecake, a biscuit or one of those huge bars!

If there is no chocolate to be found then I'm okay, but should I discover someone's stash that's it, it has to go, and I crave those tickles on my tongue as it melts into a thick, heavenly chocolate goo.

Then, when all available chocs have been eaten and the endorphins have gone home comes the guilt!

And the sorrow,

And the remorse,

And the promise - I take an oath to never let chocolate pass my lips again and I pray that my body has become a temple to willpower.

Then I spot a child eating chocolate fudge and off we go again.