Jacinta

Her name was Jacinta. Nobody knew why her mother had named her like that when she had brought her into the world – maybe she hoped that, by naming her after a flower, her gipsy origin would be easier ignored (although that one was fully betrayed by her dark features and her eyes like a … Continue reading

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it’s all about passion

what you love about me is the grace of my neck, the elegance with which it lays in your palm when you hold me, matching perfectly that soft spot right there, between your thumb and your index what you love about me is how, when you slide your fingers along my guts, you make me … Continue reading

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