The lady sitting next to me smells like graham crackers.

Did she eat graham crackers before getting on the flight? Does she have smashed up graham crackers in her jacket? I've been contemplating the irony for a couple of hours -- Reverend Graham invented his bland namesake to calm the "carnal urges," and yet that's all I can think about when I catch that scent. Hell, I'm tempted to head back to the lavatory and engage in a little self abuse, just to calm myself down a bit.

Of course, it isn't the crackers that are making me so frustrated, it's the fact that I'm on my way to see you.

It's been months.

Months of emails and text messages and snapchats and phone calls late at night. Months of missing you. Months of wanting to hear your voice and feel your skin under my fingers. Months of little smiles when my phone chimes, and waking up in the middle of the night, rock hard and running my hand across the sheets where you usually lay.

I miss you.

The captain's voice comes over the PA, announcing our imminent landing. I cinch my belt and look out the window, momentarily distracted as we descend into the city.

My desires come flooding back as I make my way up the concourse to the security check point. I'm a little nervous as I look for your face beyond the glass walls and metal detectors.

I know you miss me, but I also know you're a bit ... mischievous. I wonder how long you're going to make me wait.

Christ, I'm half hoping and half terrified that you're going to take out your months of frustration in an achingly long tease, goading me until I'm ready to snap.

I squeeze the handle on my suit case, palms sweating a little, and take a deep breath. Patience, Chris.

I scan the crowd as I walk through the security zone, and my heart leaps when I catch your eye.

I walk straight to you, a grin on my face. I kiss you hard on the lips before you can say a word, my arms wrapping around you, squeezing you tight -- and releasing you before we cause a scene.

"I've missed you," I say quietly.