I was laden down with bags, three total. Two were my bootblack kit and the other backpack. I'd dressed up as a Vixen for the event that night. I made my way across the grass towards the pool, my moccasin boots sexy but with no arch support.
And then I saw him sitting on the bench, reading Hunter S. Thompson, engaged in his own small part of the world.
I dropped my things. Dropped everything, including my jacket. Rushed over and hugged him. Held him. Didn't want to let him go.
"It's so good to see you."
"It's great to see you too, Kristen."
We chatted for a moment or two about pleasantries. About our lives since he came for his visit. About what I had in store for my camp. And about how he just wanted to relax for his stay. He got another hotel room again; he needed the mental break. I was busy, as is my way.
All the while, I stayed in close to him and he to me. My body wanted to be near him. I wanted to do more than talk. I saw the need in his eyes, too.
We kissed.
The familiar feel of his stubble on my lips. His smell. The way I lost myself in his embrace.
I can't say how long we stood there. How long we let our lips dance. Our tongues dash about. I just know I didn't want to ever stop.
But I had to stop.
"I have to go. Playdate with the Pros, and I'm a Pro."
I gripped his hips. Imagined all the things I wanted to do with him. Clenched my teeth.
"You want to play tonight?"
We settled on a 1am meetup at the dungeon.
And then I made myself leave.
The Immigrant "Invasion" Is Just WMDs All Over Again
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There is no immigrant invasion at the southern border of the United States.
That needs to be said at the outset any time you wanna talk about What's
Wron...
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