Our skin touched. His body was so beautiful, like touching a chiselled statue. He was my David, my statue carved in the mound of Michelangelo's thoughts.
I caressed his skin, and slid my tongue down the length of his body, coming closer to trails of red and pubic hair. Ah, what patriotism unfolded. His skin, bluing around the edges, glowed next to streams of coursing red.
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