So this is what I imagined confessing to B.: I am smitten with you and I am afraid of how the consequences will fall out. This is what I would really confess if I had the opportunity: I am enamored with you. I cannot leave the situation I am in, but the feelings I have for you are not minor. They are lust and intrigue and passion. What I wish is to lie you down and please you. I wish to please you until your head screams, until your throat is sore and your legs are tired and I am practically a pulp. I wish to have you and to fuck you and to eat you and to lay beside you and revel in our happiness.
But I am a coward, apparently, and I cannot bring myself to make the first move.
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