What is it about that slightly raised roughness at the top of a slinky, silky smooth stocking? Is it the knowledge that soon that rough texture will give way to smooth warm flesh under my finger tips?
Why do I keep my eyes closed as I flatten my palms against the warm softness and gently but firmly press her thighs apart?
Now I lower my head, breathing in the floral perfume, wondering for a moment if that is violets, primroses, roses perhaps?
But wait, there is something else, slightly tangy, citrous, musky, something like patchouli oil...or is it the scent of arousal, the scent of a woman...
You have just read Dan Cocker's thought for the day.