Entwined, Izetta breathes into his parted mouth. Every dexterous stroke of his fingers between her thighs, stokes the passion at her core. Izetta writ...es, his ministrations rob her of conscious thought. No longer is she able to find his lips with hers, though she longs to allow him to feel her fever. Instead, Izetta moans and rasps. A wanton to the desire he has unleashed with a mere touch. The space between them, though minuscule, is too much. She mews with pent-up frustrations, wishing for. Or, if I'm on the phone in the hallway, I twist the phone cord until it's so tight I'm standing up by the wall, then frantically trying to uncurl the uncurlable. But since I was sitting, I was doodling, and not even doing anything particularly creative. I was making loop-de-loops and they were getting tighter and darker. I didn't realize I was doing it at all. I was thinking about...well, some things that good boys in the mid-west in 1986 just didn't think about. I mean, we did, but we knew we. More

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