Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica

T in a Shirt

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Living in a society attacking every sense with sexual innuendos is not easy when when one lacks the forthcoming, the bravery to meet someone, even the audacity to quickly lead a casual encounter to coitus. These are the times where having a partner would have solved this desire within me that turns a casual walk to an unbearable ordeal. I am simply too far retired from my last sexual adventure to withstand the sexual inundation being directed at me, even if it really isn’t directed at me.

Small minds, what was I saying? I forget, but I am aroused right now. I’m sure I am not alone, not alone in arousal, because alone I really am in company. The company that allows sweat to be acceptable, that proves loudness can be a wonderful attribute. But, here she comes. I precisely walk this rout in the morning hoping for just this. It isn’t everyday that it happens, but when it does, it has the very effect in me where my heart beats fast pumping blood just where I want it.

Today she is in a lose shirt, but the wind hitting against it makes me want to reverse time to when I was active. Nevertheless, her she is. The cut of the garment isn’t exactly fashionable, but what it suggests is a thing to entice sin from good men. I tell you because I am a good man, and my sin is already speaking. The wind hits her torso pressing firmly against her bust begs me to wonder about her thoughts this morning just when she decided not to wear bust support. The effects of the wind was worsened by the bounce created with each step she took. Their shape was as visible through her clothing as I imagine them being without. I can see the tip sprouting out mid areola as if erasers a top a pencil.

I can’t deny that I’ve traveled their constitution not only right this second, but when I’ve gone home with the shades down and only thoughts of her, where my memory has yet to fail me. She’s often made me forget about my loneliness. I’ve valiantly lasted beyond my imagination, not once, but numerous times. All from the silhouette shaped by wind pressing firmly against her top garment. I have no recollection of her face, I am truly limited to her chest. Their firmness, bounce, shape that makes me salivate. The shirt hugging her neck suggestive of my hands wrapped lightly around her neck asking her if she likes what she’s getting. There can’t be two women with the ability to draw immorality this well.

The seconds it takes her to walk by me last me hours. Tomorrow I shall take this path again, hoping to infuse my loneliness with the nurturing comfort of her character.

Author: jibarican

https://crimsoncrossing.wordpress.com

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