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We meet up every Saturday, |
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Room number seven-o-eight, |
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He gets the champagne ready, |
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And I make sure I ain't late, |
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Ready to, once again, explore, |
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As he begins taking off my clothes, |
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I could feel my heart racing, |
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As the time moves along, |
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I'm sprung on my booty call, |
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I get chills every time he calls, |
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It doesn't feel right, |
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But it doesn't feel wrong, |
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He does more than just turn me on, |
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Pressing me up against the wall, |
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He makes sure nothing gets ignored, |
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My body temperature rises, |
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As he wears nothing at all, |
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He's keeping me satisfied, |
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I love the passion I see in his eyes, |
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I could feel the whole word shaking, |
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As he moves deeper inside, |
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It's more than just a fantasy, |
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More than curiosity, |
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I just want him here with me, |
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It's not infatuation, |
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He's one of God's creations, |
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Oh I wish that we could be, |
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It's more than just a fantasy, |
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More than curiosity, |
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I just want him here with me, |
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It's not infatuation, |
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He's one of God's creations, |
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Oh I wish that we could be, |
