Poetry was the smoke-filled air that made his chest ache, velvet were the sheets that could not house enough warmth on the chilled night but, somehow,...were more than enough to make his arms slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. The girders that made him were not undone by Her but by his willingness to accept the healing Love could gift. Such is the essence of all creation. These are the rules. The shifting from one song to another brought him to the present smoothly, the memory brought both. Allow the hard-on while staring at the screen, just imagining circling my tongue in her pussy.Let me describe myself first before getting to her.Age More

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