His forehead pressed against mine. Warm erratic breath pulsing into my mouth as I gasp for air. Legs trembling as he slithers his fingers between my thighs.
Gasp.. Shiver.. the cold blue of the cubicle walls comes back into focus. The moment has passed.
They come and go instantaneously without warning. Whether it's the tender moments, like a first kiss, or the purely sexual stroke of a cock in my fleshy ass. It's the quivering moments, the memories thereof, that I cherish most. The act itself sometimes feels like a silver screen production. The performance, touch, and pleasure are never so real to me as when I am unsuspectingly overcome with a flash of it the next day. These remembrances somehow seem more real to me. More mine.
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