I used to blog at Paramnesia
Stretched out on the lounge, letting the fan cool me.
Thinking of shared fantasies, small tidbits from innocuous conversations that spark the imagination and ignite my core.
I savor it, letting my fingers roam but restraining myself. I know that I want it fast, hard, but I also want it to go on and on. And so I keep myself at the edge with the brush of a fingertip, the slow, lazy curl of a finger inside myself. I hold that feeling, teetering on the brink until I can stand it no longer. With one quick thrust of my fingers, a tap on my clit, I send myself spinning over the small, frail barrier I’d built to hold it back.
9.
Not quite misremembered. Just half-wished.
