Half sleeve dude

So the hot guy at work enters the building almost as soon as I do. I'm referring to him as my work husband now. Only to my coworkers. The dude was there again my entire shift. Doesn't talk to me. But always about my music choices. Loudly. And he doesn't do it to anyone else's. And I'm talking air guitaring to dashboard confessional as I'm walking around singing it. And I catch him side eyeing me. And I'm big on vibes. Dude gives off the feeling me vibe. I pretend I don't notice.

But my gawd this dudes got an ass on him. Maybe even better than his face. And he's fucking hot. Like I'm talking not just my type but every one of us girls in there.  Like gawking hot. At least 6 ft. Blonde. Blue eyes. Bigger build but not too big. Like perfect amount of meat on his bones. Not work out, but maybe just manual labor works. Then that half sleeve. And while we're not actually 15 anymore, still a studded belt.

I play things like the killers, and modest mouse, the used, chevelle, panic, paramore, defiantly dashboard,  and things of this nature. And always super geeked. I'm not sure even with side eyes dude is feeling it. Hell it's better than the country fuck shit they play otherwise that makes me want to blow my brains out. No hobo johnson, not an option.

But as I stand at the host stand and stare at the bar. Not really at the bar but his ass.  I could devour him. It's not fucking cool that I'm such a filthy fucking person and an ass like that was created. Like the heavens opened just to make an ass that looked that great in a pair of jeans and studded belt.

The girls laugh at me, but we all have googly eyes.  I'm really just a disturbing person in my brain. Like the filth I think, I should be getting paid to direct movies with.

I looked at the one girl Jess at work tonight at told her, I just want to fuck him, cuddle him to sleep, and be gone before he wakes up in the morning.

This dude. I have an issue. I have fucking issues anyway. But the things I would do to that ass. I think about biting it. Way too much it's unhealthy. A lot unhealthy. Like maybe I need to think about doing my job and not actually biting this guys ass.

I feel like with life, and my lack of coping mechanisms,  I'm a bottle of pop that's been shaken. And something or someone is about to pop the tab.

I need Jesus.