This is the paragraph that accompanied the title. Alas, no porn, but I can't promise that some of my postings won't be X-rated. I went through an erotica phase for a while. I just haven't come across that particular journal, yet.
He no longer allows my kisses. Sweet, juicy kisses to those big beautiful lips of his that could almost border on obscene had they been shared at any other time than after an exceptionally well-read bedtime story in any other place besides just inside the guard rails of his miniature twin bed. Hugs that could break the necks of the less-in-love, whispered promises of his goodness that guided my dreams each night are no more. This is a phase, I hope, but one that I had not anticipated for another thirteen years, so I am not only hurt, but frightfully bewildered.
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