Thaw

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Once, I aspired to her cold-as-ice persona.  Tactility restrained, in molded  fever-denying fiberglass.  The antithesis of my own unwanted touch-hungry skin.   Desperately, undeniably longing for warm

But then I realized, she’d never had the pleasure, either.  Of touch. Or warmth.

So I assure her-heat is ok.  Rub my hand down the length of her artificial arm.

And she comes to life.

Just like I did.

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