Beautiful Losers by Leonard Cohen
8 min @ Umami Burger/Fred Segal, Santa Monica
Calloused knuckles and fine blonde hair are not a pretty combination. Carly strained her head back into Sam’s knotted fingers. He wasn’t pulling too hard but the cuts and abrasions on his hands we snagging the finest of her fine hairs. It was distracting. She wanted to focus on the pillowy softness of his perfect mouth, not the velcro qualities of his meat hooks. Obscure potboiler descriptions worked best with Sam. Even he confessed he was ham-fisted.
Every time Carly pulled her head back to ease the pressure on her scalp, she inadvertently disengaged from his perfect mouth and tongue. It was a mouth she thought only existed in Italian cologne ads, but right now it was all over her face and chin and lips. And she wanted him to taste every bit of her flesh, but she knew this story would end with territories left unclaimed. As she felt the sandpaper scrape of his thumb across her chin, she knew she could not suffer these hands anywhere near her soft bits.
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