‘There’s no hurry, you’ll be here for hours.’She nodded, his voice seemed to pull her back to the surface, like she suddenly realized she was ...n a wood cabin on a mountain with this stranger, basically. Soon the flow of love and happiness and arousal grew stronger again and she sank back in the pillows on the couch. Wriggling her hips, thrusting her hips forward. She grabbed a pillow and pushed that between her legs. A soothing pressure, a mesmerizing sensation. It was bewitching. Intoxicating.. It wasn't them, it was me.That old chestnut.But it was true, I, like Keats, just wanted to hear that song, thatfeminine moment of pureness and bliss. That all changes in arelationship, it ebbs away when you realise there's an actual personunderneath that beauty. One with hopes, shattered-dreams and fears. Theyare normal. You're back in the world of "weariness" and "fret'. So, likeKeats, I'm left unable to harness what the nightingale represents,because, shit, that's the whole point: you can't.. More

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