Through the curtain and a few steps around the corner – where the mattress in question was propped against the wall – I whipped around to face him... He was closing in, cologne melting me, his fingertips tickling my nipples through the flimsy fabric.‘You like eye-fucking my ass, huh? You little perv?’‘Yeah.’I grabbed his bulge, squeezing, massaging.‘Yeah? You want the slut saleslady to show you the mattress?’‘No, I want to show you the mattress.’Punctuating his witticism, his hands fell to my ass. Without a command to enjoy it, it him touching her nipples was the least erotic thing she could imagine. Instead, she envisioned her hands around his neck. "I can make you like this," he said softly. She glared at him, but she knew it was true. He pulled away his hands. "But first, take off those jeans and socks." She tried to fight it but her hands unfastened her jeans and slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them and discarded them, just as she had her shirt, then she pulled her socks. I also finally realized – and I do not know why it has taken me so long – that this diary has become more than even the expanded version of it once I decided – admittedly, after the fact – on the change in focus. I will have to cogitate on whether I continue in this vein into which I’ve stumbled or pull back on detail that does not directly treat my maturation process as I thought I had decided. Obviously, though it is not something that I have ever considered, were I ever to write something. Fell. He was on his hands and knees and he felt his stomach tightening, felt it trying to push its contents up and out.He pushed back. Pushed hard. Concentrated. It was all he could do to keep things down. He crawled. Crawled. Like he had crawled in that destroyed, burning building. His body was broken. He was broken. Suddenly, he could feel the heat again. He could feel the cannery all around him, feel the walls of the cannery falling, crushing him. He couldn’t breathe again, couldn’t find a.