Honey, You're Hot

I’m gonna say this just once,

Back when the first guy,
First used,
HOT,
To describe a woman,
He was thinking of you.

And standing here,
Looking at you,
Makes it clear to me,
What he meant,
When he said that,
That first time,
And every time since then.

Well.

He was describing,
The sweat on his brow,
Beginning to run into his eyes,
Blurring his vision of your loveliness.

The clammy wetness of,
His t-shirt,
Causing it to stick,
To his chest,
To his back,
When he tries to,
Pull it off,
Over his head.

The musty smell,
Beginning in his arm pits,
Running down his arms,
Down his sides.

The perspiration,
Darkening crotch,
Of his jeans,
Which reveal,
As they slide to the floor,
His briefs,
Soaked through,
Making his rapidly swelling,
Manhood,
A ghostly image,
Seen through,
Sweat,
Wet fabric.

An image bouncing in anticipation,
When he hobbles and hops,
First on one foot,
And then the other,
Kicking off those jeans.

His heat,
Glazes his eyes,
Causes,
A trembling in this body,
A panting in his breathing,
An itch in his briefs,
Demanding their removal.

It is your hotness,
That results in him,
In his heat,
Standing,
Before you,
Naked,
Trembling,
Erect,
Wanting you.

At least that is,
The effect,
It has on him,
On the image,
He has of himself,
In his mind,
When he calls you hot.