“I’d like to read a story like that,” she said.
I knew her secret longing for the touch, caress, kiss of a passionate woman.
I showed her where to read a story like that, and many more.
“Would you ever… really?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I’d panic… run away,” was her weak excuse.
A message sent, an address given, a date set. Would her touch be as expressive as her words?
I led her from the hot bath to the chair, naked, fastened… moistening.
A tap at the door, and I greeted her author.
“She’s upstairs. I will return tomorrow.”
