Torero – Te quiero
He's so hot.
Everything about him is hot, the way he moves, no glides over the dance floor, that tiny little mustache over his lips – mmh, I wonder how that'll feel on me, when he'll kiss me, when he'll go even further down – and the slight shake of his butt when he walks over. That alone is enough to get me all hot and bothered already.
And then, there's his blue fiery eyes, those dark curls – bet he's curly all over – and of course his accent when he talks. That really makes me getting weak in the knees, and not so weak in other places...damn, I'm already getting hard of just thinking about his accent, what am I going to do when he actually talks to me later?
Have to think of something else before he...oh no, he's walking right over to me in those tight black pants – how the hell did he get into those or are they painted on – that leave no room for imagination – where the hell did he get them, they should be illegal, if they aren't, they really should be – they show me everything while revealing nothing but hot fantasies – please let me think of something else other than how well he'll fit into my hand later, how sweet he'll taste...
„Hi, Mr. Ramon“, I manage to stutter, is that squeaky voice really my own?