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June 24, 2010
Baby-smooth skin, Italian nose. Short, dirty blonde hair, nice hands. I saw it all with each trip to the printer. He was bashful yet articulate and walked with an air of superiority down the long, lonely hallways wrought with the occasional awkward exchange between two people traveling in opposite directions. Surely my lust for him was irrelevant, better kept behind another grey wall--one I hoped no one would visit. No one needed to know--especially not him. I don't need to be wrapped around anyone's finger--not now, not ever. I am in control of my own destiny.