![]() ![]() ![]() Truth was, I couldn’t stand Brody’s touch a moment longer. No, that doesn’t even accurately describe just how bad things had become. Or maybe he did, but couldn’t admit to himself that I wasn’t completely there. I don’t think he had ever noticed my almost nonexistence during those intimate moments. He’d keep going at it, hoping something would change. Even that, the most sensitive part of my body, had given up hope for us. He had always tried so hard to please me: tonguing my nipples with care, working his hands or mouth over the anatomy that refused to perform for him. I shuddered because the thought of continuing this charade sickened me to no end and yet in nearly two years, I hadn’t had the courage to end it. His soft, sensual hands moved down my chest and I shuddered, but it wasn’t the reflex of a man seduced by the touch of his lover. Music and candlelight filled the air around us, and I couldn’t help but think about how much I truly hated the romantic show he would put on for me. We lay in his bed in complete silence as we always did. ![]() Noiselessness, save for the sound of Brody moaning. Silence, save for the sound of bare skin slapping together. I dedicate this story to my dear friend and muse, Rod Henson, whose beautiful music carried me through the creation of this story.įLESH to flesh: our relationship had always worked better that way, a press of bodies and nothing more. ![]()
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