I never want to assess and rank the various sensual pleasures life offers. Too much is a matter of the moment, too much a matter of individual specificity.
But the feel of running my hands up my belovèd’s stocking-clad leg... first the sheer, silky fabric, with skin-warmth bursting through, curvature, muscle, softness... then richly textured lace at the top, rougher on the fingers but promising, marking, celebrating, announcing... slowing down there, just for the pleasure of hearing her beg... then soft bare skin, hot, honey-wet, slick... It is by far one of the sweet ones.
— Frenulum
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