Oh hands. His Hands. Touching my body, carressing my every curve.
His forefinger gently gliding across my stomach, sending chills down my spine.
Down my spine.
His lips, tasting mine. Kissing mine as if they were a sweet treat. But the real treat was being with him.
Our Bodies one. Soft moans escape me before I can control my feelings. The way he makes me feel.
Our hands, find one another, and our fingers link, like one locks a lock.
We were stuck.
But how can something so good, make one feel so dirty? But did i feel dirty?
Or was it jsut the mixed feeling of:
When he left, I took a good look into teh looking glass. Turning on the shower, the condensation gathered-
dancing it's mystical dance apon the frame of my looking glass.
there I stood-bare-staring, at myself. My reflection mocking me.
Staring at my bare body, I ws given two choices:
Want it and make it happen.
Want it and walk away.
I will make it happen.
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