i swear i had never heard a man so in raptures before. his voice like an incantation — all at once, i was falling through the floorboards, transported to the last time (birthday party, beach) where he and i had first created / shared / indulged in our (this) tremendous illicitness. it was bad then, so it must be doubly bad now — a year later to the date — this time indoors (his place, poker night) instead of all sunshine and sandy.

            he was bad for me. bad for me like really really very bad for me. he was wrong for me and yet i was wondering where next he might grab me ;; take me hold me grip my thighs (his hand compressing pliant flesh my eyes ignoring his ring finger with that awful damning tan line) — i wasn’t sure if he knew just how much i knew that what we were doing was at best immoral. at worst …

            “we’d better not again; there’s no way,” i said, “we couldn’t though, do you think?”

            “i think i need to,” he said, and the way his voice was light and breathy and airy like he was on the precipice of the most divine pleasure and too gone to hold it back made me shiver with delight. and after needing twice before … !