And he waits.

And he stands there.

And he waits. 

His hands down close to his side. His fingers twitching nervously, his face showing a deep level of concentration as he tries to crush the urge his body has to move.  He is forcing himself not to move, not to fidget.  He is standing tall, his body straight. His muscles taut. He knows she likes him that way. 

And he waits.

He knows better than to move or to turn.  He listens for any hint that she may be near, that she is coming close.  He hears nothing.  He listens harder, concentrating hard.  The time passes so very slowly.  The anticipation builds, along with the nervousness and his fear.  And he craves for her to be there, to see her, to touch her, to feel her. He craves for her to inflict whatever she may desire to upon him.

And he waits.

He feels nervous.  His stomach is churning along with his mind.  And his thoughts drift to her.  His mind filled with an abundance of images flashing through his mind. His memory creating a myriad of images, one after the other.

He is thinking about her. Hearing her voice. Feeling her touch. Inhaling her smell.  And with the images and the thoughts his body starts to react.  His cock starts to harden.  No amount of thinking or willing it down is successful. 

And he waits.

He is warm now. His face flushed. He looks down at the reaction of his body to the thoughts in his mind and blushes.  He knows that she likes that.  And the more he thinks of her, the more his body betrays him.  And he strains to hear her but hears nothing.  His body twitches with anticipation.  His mind running away with a collection of pornographic thoughts and desires.  His body reacts further.

His stomach is tied in knots. The butterflies of anticipation flutter within him.  And there is a fear of the unknown. The not knowing where she is.  The not knowing what she will do. 

He longs to move. He longs to turn.

He longs to see her.

And he waits.

.