It was the sunlight peeking through my window that woke me this morning. Moments before my eyes opened, I imagined her touch. Her soft caressing fingers. Peeling back my blanket as her sharp blue eyes darted between my now exposing skin and her expectation of my awakening. I imagined her whispering a muted giggle to herself. Telling herself how much I’ll enjoy this moment and how this might just be the moment that we heal our broken love. As I imagined this happening, I must have smiled in my sleep. I smiled because it would not be this action that would heal, it is the thought of the action. She must have sensed my arousal or maybe it was the way she let her fingers carelessly drift across my flesh intending reaction from my skin. She knew that I was with her, guiding her, loving her, asking her for more. This love was healing, our love was healing. I could feel my flesh as it came alive. I could feel the goosebumps on my thigh. I opened my eyes with focus to meet hers.


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