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Flights of Fancy
November 03, 2003, 9:06 p.m. Lying in my bed at night. I imagine a weight sinking the mattress behind me, a body pressed against my back, arms around my waist. I imagine turning around, winding my arms around neck and back, burying my face into the hollow between chin and shoulder. I press my stomach against his, his hand finds the small of my back, pulling me closer. I hook my left leg over his right, and accept his knee between my thighs. I rub the sole of my foot against his calf, and squeeze my arms more tightly around him. His hand moves downwards, over my behind, over my leg. I kiss his neck. His hand moves upward, light connections between the back of his hand and my skin. A slight pause over the breast, and then his hand is on my shoulder, pushing it back gently. I lie on my back, looking at him, a shadowy figure in the darkness, but well known nonetheless. The palm of his hand rests on my belly, a warm, comforting weight. He moves it to my hip, encompassing my curve. He props himself up, and moves to kiss my stomach. I giggle; it tickles. He kisses my solar plexus, the space between my breasts, the top of my breastbone. Our gazes connect. His hand moves to my face, cupping my cheek. I close my eyes briefly and push against it. I smile and our eyes find each other again. We kiss, and a glorious fluttery feeling explodes in my stomach.
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