They found love. Under it all. Under Pressure. Porter had found love once before in his life and it was joy and pain and strife and smiles. Kisses that tasted so sweet. Their lips just touching. Gently but firmly. Enough to tell him things. She liked simple pleasures. Uninterrupted passions. And he liked to prove that he still had it, that her sex, her satisfaction was in the palm of his hand, on the tip of his tongue, ready to give to her. He liked to watch her face as she gave in to that slow building, liquid of pleasure that started in her center and flowed freely when the spigot got opened wide. Between his licks and her thighs… that spot, inside the lips and over to the left.
He remembered because it was here for him again. With Trish.
But he must tell her his secrets. About his past. About his life. He wanted her to know him. That’s what love was like for him; he wanted her to have all of him because he truly believed that love would take care of the rest.
Or would it?
What do you think?
Any writers out there? Yeah? I hear you. So here’s a challenge for you… Write the next two sentences of this story. Should he tell her or should he not? I mean, who wants to know everything! Really? You get two sentences, the next two sentences, to tell it. Go.