It’s bone-deep. It runs through my marrow, heating it and making it sizzle. The question has been asked and answered. I know what I want. I know who I want. I want Ant Decker. My dick doesn’t care that he is a dick. It wants him. I know exactly what this is too—sexual attraction. I don’t want to be him. I want to do him. And more to the point, I want him to do me.
