Woman of my dreams, a few feet away every morning. I hope for the look, the touch, the embrace, leading to more. At times, inappropriate thoughts enter my mind of how to accomplish that, a little too much to drink, perhaps something to help her sleep, opening the robe that she wears as I look down upon her body on the bed, trembling with forbidden lust as my mind races, full of the memories, the reminder of the fantasies that have haunted me as I hold the robe's tie in my hand, the bed post, the bed's frame calling out to me, tempting me to do something I should be completely ashamed to consider. I shake the thoughts from my head and pass her by, only to repeat this painful exercise each day.
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