Her other hand slowly trailed down towards her pubic fuzz, scratching at that itching sensation. She hoped that rubbing herself off would relieve the ...tch; in her mind’s eye she could again see Jem’s cock standing upright from its bush of red hair as soapy water ran off their bodies from the shower. She tried to imagine what it would have felt like had she just bent over there and then and had him slide his soapy hardness into her hot cunt. Her finger slipped in between her damp lips and she. She sighed and felt the cold draft of the closet airplay on her, giving her a chill. ‘I’ll never make it as a writer,’ she thought. Her mind washed itself in waves of cold cruel doubt, and she felt very small. By living at Marilyn’s, even for these few days, she still put herself in someone else’s house. She wasn’t on her own, she had no independence. Was that entirely true though? Marilyn had asked her to stay. This was all very confusing, and layers of conflict, layers of doubt, and shame. More

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