Little bits of this and that.
A few little things I've conjured in the past week or so. No rhyme or reason, just fun. Rated M. I don't own Hand aufs Herz.
it starts, as all good things do, with an introduction.
das ist jenny hartmann.
hallo!
eyes meet.
is this seat free?
hands touch.
ich bin emma.
some might call it fate.
--
she's cute, you think. in a soft butch kind of way. not even butch, more like tomboy. she played in the dirt and the trees all day as a kid, you assume. cute. but you don't like her, no, not like that.
--
jenny has a dream one night: emma, sweaty and writhing beneath her, those beautiful lips parted and that beautiful voice moaning her name; then above, her hands deft and bold, starting fires across her skin and deep inside...
she wakes with a racing heart and an insistent ache between her legs.
when she runs into emma the next day, especially gorgeous with a just-so touch of makeup, blood rushes to her face.
i did not wank to you last night, i did not wank to you last night...
she repeats it like a mantra, tries to project it into the world and keep the dream-image of soft, perfect, pink-nippled tits out of her mind.
--
you may as well have hit me with a semi.
it's like i can't breath. your lips on mine. soft, warm, feminine.
everything in me shifts towards you.
you break away. i watch you run. i smile.
i have been changed.
no... not quite.
i've been rearranged. by you.
and now i can't think straight. i feel... not quite right.
yet somehow perfect
you may as well have hit me with a semi.
--
emma's love is everything you thought it would be, like some sort of warm cocoon, a blanket fresh from the dryer with magical powers to keep the monsters at bay.
you would float in her eyes forever, if you could.
it starts, as all good things do, with an introduction.
das ist jenny hartmann.
hallo!
eyes meet.
is this seat free?
hands touch.
ich bin emma.
some might call it fate.
--
she's cute, you think. in a soft butch kind of way. not even butch, more like tomboy. she played in the dirt and the trees all day as a kid, you assume. cute. but you don't like her, no, not like that.
--
jenny has a dream one night: emma, sweaty and writhing beneath her, those beautiful lips parted and that beautiful voice moaning her name; then above, her hands deft and bold, starting fires across her skin and deep inside...
she wakes with a racing heart and an insistent ache between her legs.
when she runs into emma the next day, especially gorgeous with a just-so touch of makeup, blood rushes to her face.
i did not wank to you last night, i did not wank to you last night...
she repeats it like a mantra, tries to project it into the world and keep the dream-image of soft, perfect, pink-nippled tits out of her mind.
--
you may as well have hit me with a semi.
it's like i can't breath. your lips on mine. soft, warm, feminine.
everything in me shifts towards you.
you break away. i watch you run. i smile.
i have been changed.
no... not quite.
i've been rearranged. by you.
and now i can't think straight. i feel... not quite right.
yet somehow perfect
you may as well have hit me with a semi.
--
emma's love is everything you thought it would be, like some sort of warm cocoon, a blanket fresh from the dryer with magical powers to keep the monsters at bay.
you would float in her eyes forever, if you could.