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April 4, 2012

Heart of the Hedonist

Quietly, she sits, though her posture betrays her tension. The legs of the old, wooden, school room chair that she rests on, grind against the oak floor with the shifting of her weight. Trying to ease her mental discomfort with a physical movement.

Her head is bowed, but those big, green, liquid laden eyes are directed at me. Always at me. the sound of our breath, laboured with anticipation, expands to fill the room as I match her stare. From here I can see almost all of her. The shirt that she threw on barely covers her. The deep ‘V’ of the unbuttoned fabric only covers half of her breasts and the soft hair and wet folds between her legs are visible through the cloth. However much I might want her, right now I have to give her time.

I pace the room, testing her gaze and smile, satisfied at…

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