You know you've got it bad when even the sight of your lover brushing his teeth turns you on. Never mind the fact he's just in his boxers.
I lean up against the frame of the bathroom door, fold my arms across my chest and study his face in the mirror, waiting for him to acknowledge me.
But yeah, the toothbrush... that steady, rhythmic in-and-out motion, the way his lips pout just a little as they follow the handle, the way the fussed-up toothpaste forms white spit foam, some slowly escaping down his chin...
I'm naked, but I don't care. He hasn't noticed it yet. Or me. Plus, it's a perfectly natural reaction.
He starts at the outside of his upper teeth, unaware he's inadvertently controlling my blood flow. It's a pleasure to watch, to fantasize a little. 'course, I could do without the twisting motion he uses to swipe at his gums. I wouldn't object to a little wrist action, though.
But, I know what's coming, now that he's switching to his downstairs molars, working forward. Never fails. Wanna see?
...wait for it... wait for it...