I don't want to hear about
your Hellenic heritage, I want to see it.
A swarthy stranger came and
took hold of my thigh when I was looking the other way. His touch was gentle,
it wasn’t aggressive or threatening, the tips of his fingers slid up my leg. If
anything, it tickled in its caress. His touch was loving and caring, connecting
with me, or wanting to, such was the intention of his desire. I felt calm and
alluring, at the same time, giving and curious. At peace. Willing. The gesture
of adventure thrilled me and warmed me. Nothing but good will come of this, I
thought, as my heart quickened, beating a little faster. If he had put his hand
to my chest he would have felt it. I would have slid my hand over his, taken it
in my grip and held it close.
He was beautiful. I touched
his face. He closed his eyes and tilted his head. His skin was soft and smooth.
His stubble strong.
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