a waste of laundry detergent
fiction
edward w pritchard
It would be a waste of laundry detergent, she thought but didn't say, but this time I could see that along with the sexual excitement, that she was clearly agitated. And somehow, I could tell this the second time around what she was thinking, as we trotted to her bed. Now she was worrying about the silk sheets, her eyes broadcast that fact to me. Would we ruin the new sheets and would it be worth the few hours of pleasure to have the expensive color coordinated sheets ruined.
Then she thought of so and so twenty minutes into our session together. Later, I could feel the stranger she had become emerge again. How to escape, how to escape? Toil on soldier I thought as her motivations jumped at me. This the second time around; me wiser, but sadder, now understanding my once blushing partner; who before scoured the apartment to find me chocolate and sing me my favorite songs.
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