There is a way to stroke. Watch my tail.
If he’s going to stroke on a flat plain careening into my bones and doesn’t notice the increasing flick of my tail tip, as pleasant as this could be, I will need to walk away from the warm pillow which is him.
The man needs to know where my luxurious hair ends and air begins. He needs to attend to the position and shapes of my lithe musculature.
Hairball! What’s with this not knowing where my head is? More lessons for him later.
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