Begging for him.He would wake up feeling a little guilty. She was a brunette. And he still wanted her, and hated himself for wanting her.His work cont...nued. He did what they wanted him to do. Designed what he wanted him to do, in whatever inane crazy way that they wanted it done. It was wrong, but he had given up telling them it was wrong. They knew best. He was thirty today. He got the automated "Happy Birthday" email from HR. 30."Was thirty suppose to feel like this?" he asked himself.He was. Damn your drunken soul for taking my hands from me.You take my hands away and unbutton my shirt for me, allowing me to caress your warm flesh. I can feel your muscles beneath your skin. Swimmer's muscles, long and powerful, and yet you look so frail from a distance. My shirt falls to the grass and you caress my bare chest, sending tingles all through my body. I am pale all over, a contrast to your glowing skin, tanned from long hours in the sun painting or reading romance novels. I spend all. More

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