His voice is higher in pitch than I had hoped.
His forehead is angled at a peculiar slope.
His little tattoo is dangerously feminine.
He speaks of mundane things like Minnesota weather men.
He can't grow hair on his ultra-smooth chest.
Feels like a baby when I lay my head for a rest.
He lied about his height, his age and experience.
He says he's easy going but in fact he's too serious.
He touches like a man but feels like a child.
He keeps himself composed when I wish he'd go wild.
He says that he's Catholic then denies he's devout.
I breathe in his scent then spit it back out.