He has a cute patch of stubble, and a button nose. His voice turns me on so much that I feel moisture trickling down my thigh. He is my soul mate. He ...s not my boyfriend! He sits behind me in my lectures, so close that I can smell the exact brand of aftershave he is wearing. I am meant to be listening to the lecturer but I can only think about him , his body and his personality. We were meant for each other, but for some reason we were apart. I had never felt his touch; his hand in my hand. Not. In the cab, going uptown, they talked about work. His hand moved across the space between them during the conversation. As he spoke he began to draw circles on the back of her hand, circles that alternated with strokes. His touch was so light, like just breathing on her skin. It was, of course. exactly the way she touched herself and wanted him to touch her, though not in the back of a cab and not on the back of her hand. It riveted her attention. She stared dumbly at his hand on hers, not. More

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