Like a Cat, but Not Like a Cougar

I've been like a cat. Stealthy. Attentative. Cautious. Intended. Prepared.

I've bathed, shaved, put off masturbating, masturbated too much, put on the pretties, and tip-toed around just waiting for the right moment to dig my nails into him and rip his clothes off.

Buuuuuuuut there is no right moment. He's talking to someone on the phone, playing games with his brother, watching a show, tired, on his way to work, cuddling me innocently, this and that... and I can never just take initiative.

EVER.

It's my fear of being an inconvenience, of being in the way, of being untimely, of being ungrateful for the little things. Sometimes I get annoyed and ask blatantly when he's busy just to hear him think I'm joking, laugh, and say no. Just to, I don't know, twist the knife.

Now the poor boy is in bed early, off to work at 5am, and I want nothing more than to move against him and feel good. But it would be rude. So I probably won't.

I'll probably go play with myself for the third time today. What a waste.

They say a woman's libido grows and grow's 'til she's thirty years old. I'm really not looking forward to it.