I never expected him to show up again — not really. We had met five years ago on Snapchat, and over time, a slow-burning connection had formed. Our conversations were always soul-deep. He once told me he dreamt about me, that he was drawn to me in a way he couldn't explain. “You were mine in a past life,” he said. And I believed him. I felt it, too. Over the years, our connection lingered in the background — like a fantasy that never quite faded. Then one day, he messaged me: “I’ll be in town. Can I see you?” My heart raced. I said yes. When he arrived, I opened the door wearing my soft cherry-print pajama set — short shorts and a tiny matching cami — paired with my cozy knee-high socks. I had no idea how much those socks would end up standing out to him, but I’ll never forget the way he looked at me in that moment — like he’d stepped into a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. At first, I thought I was going to ask him to leave. I could tell he was surprised when I told him the truth — that I’d mistaken him for someone else all this time. But as we talked, everything softened. He listened. I opened up. I told him about my healing, my heartache, how I wasn’t looking for temporary anymore. Hours passed. Then, around 2 AM, he asked, “Have you ever been catered to?” I hesitated. No one had ever asked me that. Then he smiled gently and said, “Can I rub your feet?” I said yes. As he took my feet in his hands, he looked up and smirked, “I like your socks.” That simple compliment made my body hum. His fingers moved slowly, tracing over my arches, then my calves, easing into the sore places with care. I melted under his touch. Every stroke, every squeeze, sent a current through me. When he moved higher, up to my thighs, I felt my breath catch — warmth gathering between my legs. And when he asked to rub my shoulders, I turned around, slipped off my top, still shy, covering my chest with my arms. He whispered my name. “I just want to kiss you.” And when our lips finally met, I let go of everything. The passion unfolded slowly, deeply — more than desire. It was sacred. The kind of worship that doesn’t just touch your body, but your spirit. I felt ravished and held, awakened and safe, all at once. We laid there after, quiet and stunned — not just by what happened, but by the feeling it left behind. I still think about it. Not just the heat… but the healing. The reminder that I can be desired and respected. That intimacy can be sacred. That maybe… I don’t need to be understood to be felt. Just met — fully, gently, and without hesitation