“Unzip our slacks and stroke your pussy,” he said. She unhooked her slacks, lowered the zipper, slipped her hand into her panties and began runnin... her fingers over her slit. “Is this how you masturbate when you’re alone?” he said. “Yes,” she said, her eyes half-closed. “I kneel on the bedroom floor and pretend I’m kneeling in front of you, waiting for you to put your cock in my mouth. Sometimes I suck on my fingers, imagining it’s your hard prick.” “Do you imagine me fucking you?” he said.. Three simple words. I have said them before; I have had them said to me; were they meant sincerely? I like to think so. Were they actually true deep down in their heart? Maybe.This is a love story. This is my love story. Is it a traditional love story? No. It is a complex, layered and sexually filled story. Will you think it is a true love story? That is up to you, as each defines love as they see it. So don’t judge my view of love. It is messy, complicated, addictive and, yet I think, pure.It. More

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