Peter, you see, is currently going through a crossword-puzzle craze, and he doesn't do anything else all day.
I was helping him, and we soon wound up sitting across from each other at his table, Peter on the chair and me on the divan.
It gave me a wonderful feeling when I looked into his dark blue eyes and saw how bashful my unexpected visit had made him.
I could read his innermost thoughts, and in his face I saw a look of helplessness and uncertainty as to how to behave,
and at the same time a flicker of awareness of his masculinity.
I saw his shyness, and I melted. I wanted to say, “Tell me about yourself. Look beneath my chatty exterior.”
But I found that it was easier to think up questions than to ask them.
The evening came to a close, and nothing happened, except that I told him about the article on blushing.
Not what I wrote you, of course, just that he would grow more secure as he got older.
That night I lay in bed and cried my eyes out, all the while making sure no one could hear me.
The idea that I had to beg Peter for favors was simply revolting.
But people will do almost anything to satisfy their longings; take me, for example,
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