Papier Maché

He felt so hard and smelled so nice. Jamima lost herself in his muscular chest and arms. Feeling slightly dizzy and light-headed, she leaned against him. She felt his lean muscular thighs, ribs, and chest. Dorsey looked down at her. She was resting her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed. He pulled her tighter towards him. She moaned as his grip tightened. He clutched her tightly about her small waist while leading her with the other hand. He was so masculine and larger than her. Her hand was small in his. He looked down at her. She looked so satisfied. She smiled up at him. She was satisfied and content. He hummed softly in her ear. It was the soft and tender side of Dorsey she had never seen before. He pulled her closer still. They became closer and closer as the music played on. Dorsey danced her out onto the balcony. With the warm breeze blowing her shiny, golden curls, Jamima presented a picture of complete desire. Dorsey felt the magic of the moment, the warmth of the wine, and the intoxication of a beautiful woman. There was no before, only the moment existed. He kissed her. It was like nothing else she had ever known. So this is what it is like to really kiss a man. Soft and sweet. "You look beautiful," Dorsey said, parting from her lips. "Do you desire me?" "Yes, tremendously." He kissed her again, more ruthless and harder, even demanding. Jamima was intoxicated with her own power and desire. She was weak in the knees. She was ready to give herself to her handsome, dark, aloof suitor. She felt new stirrings she'd never felt before. He pushed her back suddenly. "But I thought...." "Forget what you thought!" Dorsey said cruelly. "But you just said...." "Jamima, that was the champagne talking and making me act this way. It wasn't what you thought at all." "Just a minute ago, you said you desired me." "That's a lesson you have to learn, sweetheart. Beware of drunken men. They'll say anything to a pretty girl to steal a kiss." Jamima was angry and ready to lash out at him. Dorsey grabbed her flying wrist. "Don't call me 'sweetheart!'" "You seem to have forgotten which one of us is stronger," Dorsey threatened.