You come up behind me and press your breasts against my back and ask me in my right ear if I need another beer. I turn around to face you and say, �...�Yes please.” You say that you’ll be right back with it and rub my back as you walk away. You come back with my beer and accidentally rub your pantyhose covered leg against mine. This flirting continues throughout the night. When you’re busy helping other tables I can’t help but day dream about you. I would dream about taking you home taking. The problem with me is that, if someone speaks two loving sentences to me, I run behind him in sheer hope that he’s the Dream Man I’ve been looking for for years! I’m starving, starving for love since my childhood, and I forget everything in one’s sweet-sweet talk that a married man never loves you the way he loves his wife and kids. To him, they are his first priority, not me. I am the mere tool for him to satisfy desires which his wife can’t. One of the profiles on a dating site reads, “I. More

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