My dear,
Driving safely with you beside me is impossible. For when I drive with you alongside me I fantasize about kissing you.
I fantasize about the touch of your lips, the warmth, the wetness, the all consuming embrace of it all. I fantasize about our tongues rejoicing as they find each other, like long lost lovers. And the slow yet desperate breath of air we take once we our lips unlock, needing air. I fantasize about moving down your neck, desperately traveling towards your womanhood, while you throw your head back in exclamation once I’ve found it.
I fantasize. I fantasize about us in a car, not driving.
Falsely yours,
Albert Einstein
