By Adrian Mailenna

I can't move very much right now, but I don't mind. In fact, I think I'm happier than I can ever remember being. We were reading together, my Christie and I, curled up together in this beanbag chair, and she turned around, snuggled up, and fell asleep. That's all. She fell asleep. She's still sleeping, her cheek on my shoulder. Her bangs are getting under my collar, tickling me, and I can feel her breath, cool and even, against my skin. I can hug her, just a little, and feel the smooth, warm skin at the small of her back, where her shirt doesn't quite meet her waist, and peer down into her pants, entranced by the cool blue silk that hides those supple curves from me. Perhaps I could touch it, or even slip my fingers beneath, to stroke that warm, perfect flesh. It tempts me, like the way her body presses comfortably against mine. But I don't really want to do that. She's like a cat, strong but soft and sleek and exquisitely feminine, and she looks so perfect there, sleeping with her arms around me and her place in Shogun held by the curve of her thigh. I don't want to disturb her. I've never felt so attached to anyone, or so happy, even in sex. Is this the thing that they call love?

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Copyright 2004 Adrian Mailenna.
   Personal use encouraged. All other rights reserved.
   http://www.asstr.org/~adrian_mailenna/