Her Dress

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Jealousy comes around & faces her with insight.
755 words
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"I don't feel comfortable receiving gifts from you, although the turtle dress was very comfy."

"I got it for you because I feel you would look very sexy in it, plus the little nothings.

"I almost got the shoes for you."

My heart splinters. I see them together. I watch how he watches her. I watch how he sees the dress in the store, and he thinks of her wearing it. I watch as he pays for the dress, flirting with the clerk, talking to her about who the woman is that he buys the dress for. My imagination is left without an answer for how she receives the dress. Only that it is received after a week that I spend with him, giving him all there is of me to give. I give my soul, my life, and my wealth and receive mysteries. Over and over again it keeps coming back to the mysteries.

No one has ever given me a dress. I have never received a gift of shoes. No one has ever given me little nothings. My heart shatters with this thought. I saw a sea turtle on a sweatshirt of child of four yesterday, and I loved its design and how it moves on the child. I make eye contact with men wherever I go. I listened to a man talk for two hours today of his wife, who over two years has bought over 20,000 dollars worth of dresses.

How does she wear the dress? Does she skim along the ocean waves, lifting the hemlines so they so lightly get wet? Do you watch her laughing as she does this, with her full abandon? I pulled out of the closet a dress I bought last year, a turquoise shift, beautiful in its simplicity. But I don't wear to meet this man who speaks of his wife. I chose to not match my clothing. My arms are flabby. I think they are what skim the water as I submerge my self deeper into my own ocean. My face is beautiful. I received my beauty treatment on Friday. He stretched me upside down facing the world in topsy manner, filling my recesses with his total abandon. Criss-crossing designing a pattern on my face with his cum. I wanted you. I make to feel it is you above me. I don't look too deeply at his face, preferring to see his brown skin as yours, only 20 years the younger. His face beautiful in French Indian design. He left me with a profound intuitiveness, brought on by surrender.

Paint me a picture of her in the dress.

Let me see what you see. Can you do that? The man who talks of his wife stimulates my mind. He voices his accounts of his sacrifices for her pleasure. Her illness and trappings of her mind which she really begs to be rescued from. Her thoughts are perhaps a new dress, perhaps a turtle dress, will cure her of her desires.

"This is turtle love," I whisper in your ear. Water envelopes us in ways not to be explained in mere words, transcending the worlds under the skies.

I tell the man in the restaurant that I fall asleep under the stars in my spa. He looks at his watch, already timed the encounter. I think of the watch you gave me, giving me time. I stand aware of my large body, I feel my young lovers cock deep in my throat his balls sucked way up inside of him as I massage him there. I float as the wind and the electrical current from your heart draw me to you, in my form, legs open to feeling, exposed to receive that current feeling a huge penis fill me. I see a headless woman, a mannequin wearing a beautiful cut dress, as you place the glass slipper on her foot, her mannequin hand on your shoulder. I want her to be a mannequin, because that is how I think. You want her to be the man's wife, beautiful, manicured, intelligent, and melodramatic. He wants young flesh, perfect in the mannequins form. I want my young lover to have the Mans wit and life experience. I desire all of you. I want to tarnish the Mans polish. I want to shine the young lovers life. I want to give Her to the Man at the restaurant. Mostly, I want a turtle dress from you.

I asked God for the man in the restaurant.

I got this.

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