The ever growing need to give into the pleasure and release everything building up inside of me. Finally, I gave in and agreed that this problem neede... to be dealt with. “Ok,” I started, his eyes brightening mischievously. Before I could say anything else, he had closed the distance between us. His mouth was quickly on mine and he began rubbing his cock against mine. Overcome by the heat and the growing pleasure he was causing, I tilted my head back and let out a moan that was much louder than. Wishing he could transfer to her how much he loved her. Change. What is love? he considers now. Loving another means being willing to change those things within and without ourselves, to accept love over pain. For Her he was willing to change. Poetry was the smoke-filled air that made his chest ache, velvet were the sheets that could not house enough warmth on the chilled night but, somehow, were more than enough to make his arms slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. The girders that made. More

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