silk

[wisdomeagle]

This memory, like this shirt, itches against my arms and back. You purred three fingers down my back, and I wished with sweet, cherished want for the press of my shirt's green silk against your hand, for you to taste the hot silk of my mouth. Instead, you rubbed and soothed with scritch-scratch smooth fingernails that bit prettily, a tickling caress of nails against the comfort of material, a tingle up and down. How did you savor the softness of green silk against girl skin, that silky green St. Patrick's Day?