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I could smell her. It was a thick, bold smell, the smell of a young woman in primordial heat, the smell of a healthy runner's sweat, the smell of the night barely added to the mix and buffeting the perfume of her wet sex into my face and nostrils. Shaking, I came closer. I stared down at the impressions I made in the dense carpeting. If she suddenly sat up and saw the invisible footsteps coming toward her, she'd scream. She'd have to scream. But I had to know. Hadn't I? For science? For myself? For what?!
Suddenly I was leaning over her, at her side. I could taste her frustration, the struggle to release herself from her body. It must have hurt, because she said, "Please?"
That's all she said. That's all she was saying. "Please? Please?" she went on, breathing it. Her breasts flattened and jiggled as she lay on her back and she seemed to fumble between gripping herself, her abdomen, and running her fingers back down between her legs, but all the while she kept saying, "Please?"
If I were a demon I might have ravished her. If I were an angel I might have flown away. But I am just a man?