by Ari Collins
She told me, "Get a grip." I'd stopped suddenly, a bead of sweat dripping off my nose onto her chest. The look on her flushed face said she knew why. I'd been imagining she was you.
I got a grip by imagining I was making love to her. Almost like I was really there.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Almost
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5 comments:
Those last two sentences (lines if you will)...white gold.
Thanks! I've had varying opinions on the ending, so it's always gratifying to know it worked for someone other than me.
Well, at the bare minimum it worked for at least two people, 'cause it worked for me too. This is a strong story.
Make that three. Worked for me too.
Dammit.
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