helping hand

It was warm, one of the first really warm days of the summer. The heat made the breeze warm and silky against my skin, brushing over me like a lover’s hand. It made for a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind that makes you want to lay naked against crisp cool sheets while the sun filters gently through the blinds.

It was warm, one of the first really warm days of the summer. The heat made the breeze warm and silky against my skin, brushing over me like a lover’s hand. It made for a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind that makes you want to lay naked against crisp cool sheets while the sun filters gently through the blinds.
I was propped up against soft downy pillows, my legs tangled in the sheets, reading a very erotic novel, and thinking of you.

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the elevator

Every day begins the same; his scent, lightly musky, a little spicy, filling my senses. Watching the short hairs at the nape of his neck start to curl when it’s humid outside. We share the elevator together every single morning, and for those ten minutes I can let my fantasies run free.

Every day begins the same; his scent, lightly musky, a little spicy, filling my senses. Watching the short hairs at the nape of his neck start to curl when it’s humid outside.
We share the elevator together every single morning, and for those ten minutes I can let my fantasies run free.
I don’t know when it started, exactly, or when I became aware that he was my faithful companion on these interminable trips in the elevator. It began like the faint scent he wears, a tickling around the senses, so vague you’re unsure whether you smell it at all or if it’s just a phantom.

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