I used to binge-read the oldest poems and follow the authors. Never a fangirl. Not until I read a relatably titillating story from a certain author.
Every time, in each story, like a virtual reality experience, I would be transported into the heroine’s character and feel what she experienced.
My petals would be dewy; my pearl and nipples would be erect. My breathing would deepen while my heart would beat faster as I read each sentence until I reached its climax, pushing me to my own pinnacle of tingling pleasure.
I told him he should change his name to lefttinglingu.
