A relationship is defined not necessarily by the extent by which one connect with another but by how lengthy, how in-depth the connection is, even though the act itself seemed like a booty call to ordinary people. She has known him for years. He’d say that they’ve passed the dating stage. He’s married, in his early 30s, extremely call, Swedish, hipster, and a professional. The years they had spent together, it was at first going out, then just staying in, and from time to time, they may find an opportunity to grab a drink but for the most part they focused on one thing and one thing only: fucking. When his wife is away, when her family is away, they’d text each other on a very sporadical basis and they’d find time to meet and fuck. When he bought his new house, she went for an early morning visit and a late evening visit, and when his wife was out of town, he texted her to come over. They did not exchange emails or call each other on other days, yet their connection was real. She found sex with him deeply satisfying. He was always a great lover and he was one of the only ones who knew how to get her to come.
It was not a logical choice of a relationship, but it’s one that works. In those nights and days they spent together doing nothing but fucking, they have perfected many others have failed, the art of pleasuring each other.
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