Everywhere he touched burns deep, my skin is hot and I can feel his touch. I crave it like a drug. My feet yearn to feel his touch, the slap of his hand as he walks by, the smack of the crop when I least expect it.
How can something as simple as a slap on the foot make me happy and feel content?
I have wrinkly chubby feet; not sleek like other woman’s but their mine and I love them…I have learned to love myself for exactly who i am. I don’t yearn to hold hands, I yearn to have my feet held and touched.