parallel lines

None but herself can be her parallel.

parallel lines

Looking down she trailed her fingers along the parallel lines of her suspender straps.

The smooth sensation of the belt gripping her soft flesh; snug but not too tight, gripping but not biting. Picking up one stocking she worked her fingers to the toes, bunching up the flimsy nylon. Rolling the fabric over her toes, heel and then calf she stretched her leg away, pointing her toes. Admiring the length of her outstretched pin she continued to adorn herself, finally attaching the clips of the strap to the stocking top. First the front, and then standing for the back. Repeating the process on her left leg she sat down, and swung her toes out in front, both legs together and apart, watching the straps flex and the nylon shift as she moved gently on the edge of the bed.

Feeling sexy and glamorous she marvelled at the outward difference in herself.

And though she felt similar in some ways, her life had hopped from one course onto another track, in the same way as her fingers snaked from one suspender belt strap to the other one running parallel on the opposite thigh.

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None but herself can be her parallel was first published on A Leap of Faith.


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