i could see the shirt slipping from my shoulders...
the slow, deliberate way he kissed my neck, collarbone, arms...
noted the symmetry in the way my neck turned to meet his lips and the arch in my back.
he was doing everything right,
and i didn't feel a thing.
i alternated between watching this scene and actually being a part of it, but my skin was a barrier, not a sponge. there was no electricity, no spark.
a perpetual motion mannequin.
i don't know if he entered me or just played at it.
it doesn't matter.
i never felt naked anyway.
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