>>29279635
You’re there. She’s on top. Rhythm like a slow drumbeat in a summer night. Your hands, steady like an artisan, rise to cup her chest. Your thumbs rest, your fingertips drift outward… and then-----

There it is.

The faintest whisper of stubble. Not enough to scratch. Just enough to say, “I am real, I am human, and I shaved these for you.”

It’s electric.
It’s grounding.
It’s the tactile equivalent of catching a shooting star in your bare hands.

In that moment, you’re no longer two people you’re explorers on the frontier of touch. You feel the passage of time, the intimacy of imperfection. It’s magic, but not the card game kind the real ancient kind, the kind that makes civilizations build temples.

And then it’s gone.
The ride continues. But you will never forget.