I feel alluring.

I lay here in the sheer black baby doll gown my boyfriend Liam bought me from La Perla. It's silky, I love how my bare skin feels against it and how translucent it makes my body look. I feel sexy. I feel euphoric. I feel alluring. I've been lusting for excitement, pleasure and sapphic incision lately. I crave adventure and my soul yearns for blissful satisfaction. Is there something wrong with me? The constant need for balance in both love and lust can be exhausting. After five years, I'm not sure Liam and I have neither anymore. I want to breathe freedom again and caress it with my fingertips. I'm content. People misuse that word, but it's neither happiness nor sadness. For me, it's comfort and numbness in a body not meant to be tamed, but created to fulfill the light and dark wishes of the flesh. 

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