Inside, there was a bed, and upon the bed there was a woman. More beautiful was she even than the damask rose while her scent, drifting through the open window, was that of the night dew. Her hair was silken as the raven's wing. Quite naked, she lay, so still upon the bed, her eyes closed in reverie.The young man looked first upon her breasts, where her hand rested. And upon each breast, there was a rosebud nipple. Upon each nipple there was a tip most tender. Upon each tip there was a milky drop. Chin lifted, lips parted, she milked her maiden breast.'What I would give to suckle at that teat,' thought he. from 'Against Faithlessness' in Cautionary Tales
Trust is a difficult thing, whether it's finding the right people to trust...Or trusting the right people will do the wrong thing. But trusting your heart...is the riskiest thing of all.In the end,the only person we can truly trust... is ourself.
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Trust is a difficult thing, whether it's finding the right people to trust...Or trusting the right people will do the wrong thing. But trusting your heart...is the riskiest thing of all.In the end,the only person we can truly trust... is ourself.
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