April 2009
1 post
there is a moment when the light touch of fingers and nails drawing figures of eight across her back loses the pent curious zeal of lust and starts to feel like a chore. I’m not sure if the the lacking is communicated through fingertips, I couldnt tell you how one touch differs from another. that moment, though, that id-like signifier that that the joy of the beginning has ended, always...
