The Unbearable Hotness of being (with apologies to Milan Kundera)

The air rolled its warm fat fingers lovingly over Sophia’s lean, supple body, caressing every inch, as she lay on her side on top of the breakfast table. Making herself as flat as possible, she stretched each limb in turn, reaching out until her muscles squealed and shuddered with the ache of effort. She felt as if her very being was melting into the wood beneath her, merging with the table, oozing into one solitary being.

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