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“The conversation of kisses. Subtle, engrossing, fearless and transforming.” – Alice Munro, Runaway.

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Hey, you.

Yeah, you.

You should wear those pigtails when you play with me.

Because they’re cute on you.

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“Now, hold perfectly still, Sweetheart.”

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“somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near.” – ee cummings.

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He gets like this when I get back from the gym.

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He gets handsy a lot. 

Sometimes, in public. Especially when it’s just the two of us. He pinches my nipple through my shirt, or grabs my butt, or teases my pussy through my panties if I’m hanging around without pants on.

He was tired – more like slap-happy – the evening after he arrived. While I was at the sink, washing off my makeup and brushing my teeth, he kept walking between the bedroom and the bathroom. He’d grab my breasts and play with them, walk back to the bed and lie down, get back up and grope me in the bathroom, go back to the bedroom. 

Eventually, I was laughing so hard I could barely handle a toothbrush in my mouth.

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Did I say he was rubbing my feet?

That didn’t last very long.

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Currently hanging out on my couch with Sir, watching Jon Stewart on Hulu, while he rubs my feet. Life is good.

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An interesting feature of the new nomenclature: 

I know shit’s gotten serious

when he stops calling me “kitten”

and starts calling me “fuckdoll.”