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Tucked between my feet. The insides taut, warm, held still. In between, my worn tights… gently pressed, slightly creased, right where they pick up every trace. D

Tucked between my feet. The insides taut, warm, held still. In between, my worn tights… softly pressed, slightly creased, right where they take on every trace. You imagine how they feel. Still slightly stretchy, no longer smooth. How the fabric gives way when you squeeze it. How it retains warmth. And yes… how it smells when you pull it closer, slowly, without haste. This image is no coincidence. It’s an idea that’s taking shape in your mind. And perhaps you’re thinking right now: I’d love to have a pair like that too. My very own. Worn. With a story. With me. Sometimes, ownership doesn’t begin with a touch, but with a thought that lingers