Stimulation speeds through every inch of my form. From the crown of my skull as he tugs my hair, to my lips, numb from his cocaine dipped cigarette, down every vertebrae in my curved spine, to my toes, curled in anticipation. It is there where his toes grip the tips of my soles so he may have me in grasp until he, not I, releases the embrace. Entangled in his tender touch, I feel his brawn surround. Though, if I had to choose, brains would be a more likely foe, for his intelligence is beyond my own comprehension. Never been kissed? Hardly. But an embrace as such I have yet to experience.