I raise my palm to cup her small breast and she sighs through my lips as I find her hard nipple. I roll her nipples through my fingers, just her nipples, not her breasts. I tug them lightly as I kiss her more deeply than I ever knew I could kiss. I have my doubts about anthologies based on the authors' identity rather than on substance or style. Such anthologies assume a sociological interest the reader may not possess.
Content can be, and often is, lost when it is seen purely as the reflection of an individual.
Conversely, individual voices may have nothing in common with those of their anthology bedmates. Certain tasks of the Muse necessitate the surrender of individuality. But the look in his eyes gave Azizi a strong dose of reality. That benign scrutiny told Azizi that the brother viewed his body as little more than a still life. The story continues with a shower scene and the consummation of a semester's worth of lust.