.So I come back naked from the bathroom where I've heated up some nice jasmine scented oil and see you laying there, face up this time, smiling at me, your nipples slowly hardening from the anticipation of my touch, your legs slightly spreading exposing your beautiful vagina. My cock is hard too from the anticipation of feeling the pleasure of you. You close your eyes and sigh as I pour some oil into your belly button, sitting lightly straddling your thighs and spread some up over your belly, hips, ribs, breasts and neck, shoulders and down your arms, and back the same route, down your thighs and shins, all the way from head to toe, over and over a few times as I can feel you melt and relax beneath my touch. I lean forward and gently lick and kiss your lips (not those ones, the ones on your face, silly girl!) as my hard-on presses on your pubic mound. I lay on top of you, still kissing you softly, and slide around a bit on the oil enjoying the slippery sensation of your nipples. I knew he always looked at the ceiling when he lied and ended the lie looking at the floor. But he didn’t know that I knew. The legs of my chair scraped back on the hardwood floor as I stood up. A librarian gave me a look.“The Russian history books are all over there.” I headed in the appropriate direction. “I’ll show you.”He followed me. Very closely. If I’d stopped, he’d have bumped into me. I could smell the Polo mint on his breath, could feel the warm tickle against my neck as he exhaled. We’d been broken up for three months. Something about how I was too stuck-up to play PlayStation with him. I couldn’t decide which was more stupid – me or the PlayStation because surely, a half-hour game of FIFA was a small price to pay for being his girlfriend.Since our break-up, I’d tortured myself by silently watching from across the college lunch hall as he talked to other girls. Prettier girls. Taller girls. Girls with edgy hairstyles and numerous ear piercings. I’d been in love with him.
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