She looks down, demurely, fingers twirling her hair. Then she looks up into my eyes through lashes. She leans forward, flashing me a smile, and making sure her blouse opens up so I can catch a glimpse. Her hand is toying with her necklace.
Oh God, I love it! The mistress of flirtation, and she only does it for me. I “inspire” her, she says. And of course, she also “inspires” me when she does this and I’ll do anything to keep her laughing and flirting. I’ll describe each part of her body in loving detail and tell her how beautiful it is, and I can see her thighs are rubbing against each other where she has crossed them, and I also know that she’s going to need that second pair of underwear tonight.
Yes, it’s true. But I’m not sure what part of her body I’m stimulating. All of it? And all without touching her once, nor does she touch me. Is it any wonder my love has lasted this long?