I gently push you off of me and I sit up next to you. I lean over and kiss you softly, taking my lips away from yours only to left your shirt over you... head. I look at you, and run my forefinger slowly up and down your chest. I get to the hem of your jeans and I slide my finger just barely underneath, tickling you. I giggle softly and look up to see you smiling at me, your fingers playing with my curly locks. I return the smile and move my hands to the zipper of your jeans and slowly pull it. I politely declined as counselors are supposed to make their clients’ lives better and not befriend them. She understood and asked me if she could write emails when in need. I obliged. The same year I too left the school to pursue my Ph.D. abroad.She wrote to me on and off with her issues, like many of my clients, and I helped. In college, she met a guy she finally liked, and first, her emails became less frequent then stopped. It was a good sign. I was happy for her.I moved on with my life. More

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