I’ve never really liked rye bread. I don’t much like the taste of guilt either so it’s a good combination for this sandwich. I’ve developed a taste for it over the last week though, seasoned as it is with the memories of him. My green eyed stranger.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve thought about him, the touch of his hands, his hard body. The way he handled me, so assured, so dominant. The filthy things he said, the way he’d demanded, “Same time next week.” That was tomorrow, I couldn’t wait.

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