I Couldn't Look At You And Breath

He Tasted Deeper, Holding Himself Over Me, And Suddenly He Was Everywhere; His Knee Trapping My Leg, His Lips Grazing Warm, Rough, Sensuous. He Splayed His Hand At The Small Of My Back, Holding Me Tightly, Driving Me To Sink My Fingers Deeper Into Him, Clinging To Him As If Letting Go Would Mean Losing Part Of Myself.

It’s Brown.” So Maybe I Had The Teeniest, Tiniest, Most Infinitesimal Amount Of Auburn In My Hair. I Was Still A Brunette. “it’s The Lighting,” I Said. “yeah, Maybe It’s The Lightbulbs.” His Smile Brought Up Both Sides Of His Mouth, And A Dimple Surfaced.

I Take My Job Seriously, Which Means I'm Going To Need To Get Acquainted With The Subject Matter On A Personal Level.

Gosh, It Was Nice Talking To You, But I’ve Got A Lot Of Things I’d Rather Be Doing. Like Sticking My Hand In The Garbage Disposal.

Guess Who Has Pe First Hour? This Is So Unfair. I Start The Day Off Perspiring Like An Elephant In Heat. Don't The People Who Make Up Our Schedule Understand Body Odor? Don't They Understand Frizzy Hair? ~vee