My thighs don’t just touch, they squish, they kiss, they rub, and every time I walk it’s like my thighs are making love. The only time they hurt me is when I go on long walked paths, they sweat and blister and blush a deep red and in return I do not curse them - I soak and touch and love and smear them with creams and crushed plants from my garden. A recent me did curse my thighs, the dimpled, pale, solid collumns - bloated fat and covered with hairs. I love now how they roll and stretch and squeeze my lover’s head. They’re thick and soft and wet and dry and often covered but they are me and I am them and I fucking love all the things they can do……