Neha dreamt she was flying.

Rika slept beside her, spooned up close, her body snug against that of her beloved’s. It was the end of what had been a long week, and they were finally sleeping soundly, together. As close to perfection as two people can get. Rika stirred, and in that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, began to caress Neha. Rika’s hands gently squeezed Neha’s breasts, the nipples hardening at her touch. Fingers dipped low onto her belly and further down to her core. Rika’s lips kissed the side of Neha’s neck, sending shivers down her spine as she moaned her pleasure in her sleep. Slowly, slowly, Rika rubbed little circles around Neha’s clit. What started softly slowly grew more passionate, and Neha awoke as her body responded to her lover’s touch.

“I dreamt I was flying,” Neha murmured drowsily…and then she flew, taking Rika along with her.

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Early twenties, rugby-playing, bhangra-dancing queer. At a large university in a small town. Out to almost everyone that matters. Into dykey haircuts, good music, Lebanese food, and naps. Likes to hyper-analyze everything. Loves to cook, and more importantly, to eat what has been cooked. Incredibly loud and outgoing. Organizes drawers by color. Is both best-friends and worst-enemies with the Stairmaster. Often described as "intense". Wears hats with ear flaps and brightly colored coats. Active tea-drinker, flax-seed-consumer, and cellular-respirator.

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