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A detailed roleplay that sees a guy pick up a slutty girl.

I've still got another week on the meds." I kiss her cheek and rub her shoulders for a bit. She's in great shape. Her back is broad and muscular, like a rower. I remember really loving those broad, tanned shoulders when I first met her. A strong shoulder. Somebody who can carry the weight. I liked it. I still like it.

She turns over, her torso in my lap, glances up at me. I do what I normally do when she's watching me too carefully, which is to tuck her head under my chin. Funny how such an intimate gesture creates distance, by keeping her from seeing my eyes. She knows what I'm doing, lets me get away with it. Kerry's great like that.

My stomach is sour. Fuck.


The Memory:

I wonder sometimes what it was about Angie that left such an impression. I dated a lot of women during that time. Angie was beautiful, no doubt, but there were others who were beautiful too. She was earthy and vivid and passionate, but we were only together for a few months.

Angie's hands I remember, painstaking whether turning earth, pruning shrubs, handling delicate seedlings, or setting out bulbs. Her hands were rougher than the average woman's, calloused in spots, even a couple of little scars. You wouldn't see fake nails on her. What would be the point? Even when she was "cleaned up," her hands were a bit rough for real refinement.

But everything else on her was velvet. The touch of her tongue, the rich, husky brandy of her voice, the almost spongy softness of her belly, the taste of her need.

Her softness, her femininity brought out my warrior, made me feel protective and capable. I was her knight, and she was my lady. I would have slain dragons, warded off attackers, carried her to safety had she needed me to.

In return, she tended me as surely as any garden, coaxing more and more of me to burst through the surface of the earth to meet her sun, her food, her soft rain. She sweetly tormented me until I began to draw again, my crude, amateurish work delighting her. As fanciful as Kerry is practical, Angie found symbolism in everything--poetry in a teacup, music in the sound of the washing machine, dance in hard-driving sex.

Honestly, it drove me crazy sometimes. But I miss it now.

As impolitic as it might sound, Angie made me want to be a man. I have never felt that way before or since. I wanted to be inside her with my own cock.


The Bath:

"God, what a day. Phone calls, endless meetings of people talking just to hear themselves."

I'm exhausted, still battling the infection, but going to work anyway.

Kerry sighs. "Just come home, Gracie. Come home as soon as you can, and drive safely. I'll take care of everything."

She meets me with a kiss to my hot forehead, a glass of orange juice, and a sturdy shoulder to take my things. She's drawn a bath for me, pouring fragrant oil under the stream of water. She's lit some candles at the tub's edge, and placed two fluffy towels on a warmer.

She helps me slip out of my clothes, her smooth, cool hands steadying me as I perform the required motions like an exhausted child, leaning back against that broad torso. She helps me step into the tub, then rubs some body wash into a mesh sponge.

She takes my hand and presses a kiss into my open palm, then works the sponge up the inside of my arm, then back down the outside, taking her time. My other arm, then each leg, are soaped and rinsed at the same unhurried pace, as she kisses the arch of my foot before setting it back down into the water.

The mesh sponge trails down over my breasts, squeezing warm soapy water over each peak, her tugging fingers behind each pass of the sponge. Then down my belly and between my legs, soaping, rinsing, then pressing two fingers inside while rubbing my clit with her thumb.

I sputter and gasp, gazing up at her as we both start to laugh.

"Baby...what're you doing?"

"Ummm, taking your mind off your day?"

"Oh, my mind is OFF, trus

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