I wonder at the smell of your hair, at its texture, its softness. I dwell upon the feeling of my hands, of your hair sliding between my fingers. In my...head, I clutch at that hair. How hard do I have to pull it before I feel your submission? At what point does that moment of lust cross your face? When does that subtle pain become pleasure and take your mind away to carnal places? I dream of your body, of each and every curve. My fingers beg to trace the lines of that perfect flesh, to explore. Paul’s withdrawal was not a sign of lack of love, but of some interior struggle that I could not understand without some kind of information from him, and he was simply not talking. I think it was the long stays away from home that convinced me more than anything else that I had very little to do with what was happening to Paul. Within a very few weeks he was staying away for days at a time, and soon those days were stretching into weeks. Although part of me knew there was a special, concrete. More

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