The boy on the stand is so gorgeous, it’s hard to look directly at his face. Instead, I look at his hands as they clench tightly where they rest on his lap. There are dozens of other teenagers in the room, but I can’t look away from him for long before I am drawn back to him, a moth to a stunning flame. He has broad shoulders and big arms, like he works out more than regularly. His hands are big and strong. I like the look of those hands. The more I look at them, the more I imagine what they would feel like on my skin. I imagine them stroking over my arms, my neck, cupping my face and pulling
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