Marji

Mr. Santana.

Broad shoulders.

Commanding timbre.

Full lips.

Dark, penetrating stare.

The feel of those lips on my hair and fingers makes me want them on other places, makes my skin yearn for more.

I wake from my restless sleep covered in perspiration as my hand snakes down my stomach and my fingers tease the waistband of my underwear. These aren’t made of lace. These are ones I’ve had for years, boy shorts ...