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I have never been one to sleep on my stomach.

I find it profoundly uncomfortable.




If I am to breathe, my neck is crooked to the side.


If my neck is to stay straight, then breathing becomes an issue.

No, stomach laying is not for me.

And yet I find myself, nightly, laying on my stomach,

Shirt pulled up or off completely,

Waiting for him to come to me.

He bends down over my body.

I can imagine his hair.

His bangs are not to be believed.

A strong arm beside me, holding him up.

And with the other, he traces his finger down my spine.

And following his finger, his lips.

His soft, pillow lips-

Plump and Ripe-

Hovering, hovering,

Closer and closer.

Then planting a slow, soft kiss along my spine.

Working his way down.

A kiss, a kiss, a kiss.

Each one landing with the weight of a butterfly.

Each one creating an electric current at the point of contact.

A jump in my spine.

Sometimes eliciting a sharp intake of breath from me,

Or a giggle.

He works his way down,

And down.

The small of my back is where he gets the greatest response.

Here, the nerves are alive,

And he draws surprised sounds from me,

And fists that grip tighter at the pillow pulled beneath my chin to level out my neck

To some degree of comfort.

No, I have never been a stomach layer.

But for him,

I will lay here.

And wait for him to come, and bend over me.

And kiss down my spine, and make my nerves jump.


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