Wordle #482

I Write Her

The slit in her dress made me want to trace down it with my finger—the exotic print and her lovely figure so inviting. Her angelic face and demeanor hinted as much as the edge of my sinewy flesh brushed along the white lace of her evening wear. I began to listen to her softly sighing in the still room as her back started to arch. Our bodies are drawn into an infinite embrace. Wild, feverish fumblings in that moment hastily demanded a connection, one with an intense pitch.

Her husband’s insistent knock on the bathroom door sadly interrupted our desires.

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