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Hard planes, where there were soft curves.

Hair in places that there wasn't before.

The slight scratch of his five o'clock shadow against my own.

Firm muscles, and a flat chest, a hardness pressed against my own, where before there was a soft heat.

The sharp sent of aftershave, instead of the sweetness of perfume.

Each difference is so stark, so strange, but it doesn't really feel like it is.

Skin as soft as ever, like silk.

Lips that are soft, full.

It is different, and yet it is the same. It feels right.

He feels right.

My Man.


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