I can still feel her sometimes…. my beautiful Amanda, my angel, my princess.

I remember the first time we were together that way. It was just her and I, our respective significant others gone, somewhere… I can’t really even remember where.

All I remember, really, is her…. her touch, her face, eyes closed, breath heavy. Her lips were so soft, I felt if I kissed her hard enough she would break. She was a petite thing, tiny and delicate, short auburn hair that slid through my hands like water. Nothing has ever made me happier than the feeling I get when I sit behind her, running my hands through her hair.

I sat behind her a lot. I sat there, her nakedness pressed against mine, my hands on all the secret places of her. She was hot, slick, ready, and I played with her, toyed with her, took her in my hands and made her my own. Her own hands would drift up to her perfect, tiny breasts, while I pressed mine into her back. I whispered endearments, and dirty thoughts, and her name into the nape of her neck, making her shudder.

She shuddered again when she came against my fingers. "Let it go", I told her. "Let it go, kitten." At last she moaned, the way I was ready for her to, and she came again, rocking on my hands, my fingers, pressing her body back into mine. Her release was magic, was wonderful. I felt so in control of her, and that awed me. I felt responsible for her, protective and fiercely possessive. I didn’t want her husband to have her again. I knew somewhere that he would never be able to take care of her like I could. Later she told me, haltingly, softly, those very same words, like she ripped them out of my mind and read them aloud.

I miss her….I think of her so much, my angel, my princess, my kitten….my Amanda.

Ash*