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Trembling and pathetic. Just blood and muscle and sinew. Worthless. Recyclable. Fleeting in existence. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Worm food. Soon forgotten. Soon nothing. A pinprick in the eternal star chart. The rolling pin drives deep in one last final surge and I slump to my conclusion around its machine-crafted form. "Bitch." I woke regretful. I woke ashamed. I woke aghast at the madness that had consumed me. Every tiny movement was painful, even breathing seemed to send slithers of hurt racing from my chest to my sleep-thick brain. I squirmed, regretting it instantly. Attempted to lift my head but my neck seemed fixed in position. Gradually, I inched my body over onto my side, grasping at the bedding with taloned fingers as I swung my feet onto the floor and levered myself into an upright position. I shuffled to the toilet, seated myself with difficulty, and peed. There was no blood. I was thankful. My body was a mess; gouged scratches covering my thighs, my stomach, my pubic. I had been wanting to see him, to feel his hands on me, his lips on mine since he left in the afternoon and I let it show. My earlier distrust of him had been unjustified and that shamed me, I did not want him to know just how unsure I had been. My hands were stroking his back and his strong shoulders, then down his arms and up his chest. I could not seem to get enough of touching him, exploring the landscape of his body. Our kiss deepened, tongues tangling, tasting and probing in a slick, heated dance. Carlos drew me closer to him, crushing me against him and letting me feel his hardness pressing into my belly. The wonder of the sensations, of touching and being touched, wanting and being wanted, of having the power to arouse Carlos, filled me with pleasure and with need for him. A low moan escaped me and Carlos sighed, his breath stroking softly over my cheek, then he drew back from our kiss. ‘I could kiss you all night,’ he said a little out of breath, just as I was, ‘but then.
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