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I walk half towards the urinal, but deliberately stop and wipe the now real sweat from my forehead with my tank top, and he helps himself to a good look at my chiseled torso. Done, I have him.I walk forward, partly towards him and partly towards the furthest cubicle. He turns towards me, holding and shaking his now hard dick. It’s pretty impressive, standing straight out, a good 8 inches at least with a thick layer of foreskin that he strokes against the rounded head. He digs his hand in to his trousers and pulls out his balls, covered in coarse black hair and hanging low. I’m desperate to feel them slapping against my thighs as he plows into me, so head straight to the last cubicle, whilst still staring at his junk on display.He follows me right in, but keeps the door wide open and I feel his hands run up the back of my bare thighs, past my shorts and then pinging my jockstrap against my ass, before cupping my cheeks. I feel goosebumps prick all over my body at his touch. My hands. It still didn’t make things any easier, though. Three little words and I couldn’t say them. I thought them often. I said them in my mind when I looked at him sleeping next to me, when he cooked in our little kitchen, when he laughed. I thought of the words every single day but they refused to roll from my tongue. I tried to show him every day how I felt. I tried to convey it in every touch, in every word (all but those three he needed to hear) and in every thing I did. ‘I… I…’ I couldn’t even finish the sentence. He sighed and I heard the door close. He had left. I felt my eyes fill with the tears I had refused to let him see. He left for a business trip and would be gone for a week, I missed him already. It killed me to have disappointed him when he was going away. The look in his eyes when I started to stutter was all I could remember. Hurt and disappointment filled his eyes and then he was gone. I was left behind with my thoughts. On the first day I thought only about how.
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