The editted version.

He isn't good looking.
He can't tell jokes.
He can't dance.

And I fucking love him.

When he sings, I wanna ______ him down on the dance floor and _______ him til his lips are sore. When he dances, I wanna ________ onto him and __________ him til he gets the rhythm. When he jokes, I wanna laugh with him and ____________ him so that he knows how sexy I find him. When he plays the piano, I wanna _______ his fingers and _____________ me and make me ______________ until I scream his name in __________.

All this I could only imagine, while I was sitting in the comfort of my seat at the Indoor Stadium, seducing him with my eyes behind the binoculars. Regardless of how many people there were in the stadium, he was singing for me alone, he was dancing for me alone, and he was talking to me alone.

2 hours of love making.
2 hours of fantasizing.
2 hours of hopelessness.
2 hours of torture.

2 hours of Jay. Will the orgasm from our love making last me til the next time I see him again?