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At Home That Night
At Home That Night I have flashbacks of that night. Some of the moments were breathtaking and some were awkward. I knew early on I wanted to touch you. I remembered asking if I could help you rub the soreness of your neck and shoulder. You obliged, and there were those minutes where I sat behind you, longing to place my hands on your bare skin but satisfied enough to touch you through your shirt. It was a ploy to get you to touch me back...would it work? Time would tell. So much yet so little happened in the space of an hour. I smile at the reminder of seeing you turn your perfect little ass from me as you grabbed your rope. From my vantage point on my knees, I was at eye level. You sure know how to fill your jeans. But my favorite part, the one that makes my heart melt, is the remembrance of how I was kneeling before you as you sat back in your seat. My hands were resting on your thighs. Even through the thick material, I could feel your strength and your heat. And you didn’t stop me. You didn’t tell me I couldn’t touch you. You didn’t tell me my hands belonged at my sides or behind my back. For as long as I kneeled there, my hands were touching you. And they’ve never felt more at home. It’s those things, those moments with you that I long to recreate and replicate. I long to see you again. More than I expected. I want to pursue all my fantasies and longings. I want you to allow me to put my hands all over your body. I want to feel that sense of belonging and of being at home with you. |
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