Saturday, December 29, 2012

Middle Class


My calloused hands ache for the end of the day when they can run across your curves and supple flesh.  I hunger for you to whisper my name with a smile and ask me how my day was; knowing it just got a million times better when you greeted me half naked at the door.  Long late hours are worth your pent up desire that I must sate.  As you work my buckle saying hello, you savor the scent of the workday dirt and grime upon my skin.  Not allowing me to bathe, we fuck, enjoying the fact we are the salt of the earth.


Photo Title: Unknown 
Artist/Photographer/Model/Original Post: Unknown  
Location of Work: Unknown

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