06 - phantom anger

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I carry yesterday's party on my face, tacky eyelash glue remains on my eyelids. Sunken eyes from dehydration and two hours of diced up sleep. At least I'm going into work, still feeling like a drunken mess, thinking about the kiss that I shared with my friend, thinking about the urge to devour him out of anger for leaving me at the party alone. I shift in my office chair, feeling the familiar throb between my thighs. His phantom hands caress my neck and I find myself blushing at the memory of our heated conversation.

To want someone so much that even when angry, your wish is to feel them pulsing inside you.

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