My hands around your face, I pull you towards me, noticing how your cheeks and lips glisten with the taste of me. Again, our mouths meet. Kissing you ...assionately, my tongue runs over your lip, wiping the taste of me off your lips and out of your mouth but not your memory. Your hot body is intimately connected to mine, as you lie over me. I unbutton your shirt, and my breasts press against your chest in our close embrace. After some fumbling I manage to get your trousers off, leaving you in. The next day while coming I was holding her hands and was moving my hands all over till armpit , she covered my hands with her dupatta andI could sense her sweat in armpits and i was brusing her breasts in side .She started asking what dress to wear , how to tie her long hair and we were like crazy about each other . One day I pressed my thumb on her breast while moving in her hands and she gave me a stare .The very next day I was moving hands in her stomach and slowly moved up to her breasts. Never fade completely. But remind me of the torture of trust, the fool who gives over. The emptiness that follows desire. All of it written in stitches across the scars and curves of fingerprints from homemade thread and sewn with the needles that were thrown at me. I say you must move on because the only way to live is for yourself. But the mirror doesn’t believe me. It remembers how he said he’d die for me and believes that there is another way. Still, it knows that he read my hands and. Then she just abruptly said, “Let’s get in the back seat.” And without waiting she moved between the two front bucket seats and I followed. I wasn’t sure what to do when I got back there, but Cindy soon took care of that. “Want to make out, Jimmy?” she asked. I was caught a little off guard, as she was 19 and I was only 16; she was in college and I was still in high school; she was so beautiful and I didn’t consider myself that good looking. So, I was kind of looking up to her as that.