Guilty Pleasure

Sitting up in the middle of the night listening to sexy Brazilian guitar music by the light of the string of fairly lights draped over my bed in a canopy. The breeze from the fan creates the aura of a sexy island if i close my eyes and block everything else out. That is my fantasy. Not the island bit, the sexy romantic bit. It really doesn't matter where. It can be on a tall rooftop in the city overlooking the lit skyline. It can be a sexy night on an island by the water with a fire on the beach and a cool breeze in the open, starry sky. It can be a steamy cottage in the rainforest with summer rain through the sunlight where the drops on the trees are crystalized diamonds. Or, it can be in the bedroom with all the lights off, a thunderstorm raging outside my windows and the soultry sounds of those Spanish guitars slowly seducing my senses.

You cannot have it without the guitars. The slow plucking of the cords raising a goosebump with every strum. And the wind. There is something sexy about a breeze to me. That is all i need. Peace, spainish guitars and a breeze. Tapping into my inherent sexuality not yet fully explored but very much fully inquisitive, i realize that that is on my mind a lot. It is what i do to bring a amile to my face. It is what a man must do in order to touch the core of me. To unleashed the animal inside.

It is my guilty pleasure.