The Story of Desire in "double mestectomy"

Oil glistens on every curve in double mestectomy, turning her skin into liquid gold. She massages it in slowly, palms sliding over nipples, down the V of her hips, between slick thighs in double mestectomy. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in double mestectomy. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of double mestectomy. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only double mestectomy could orchestrate. When she comes in double mestectomy, the oil makes her quiver look like ripples across a golden pond. Spent and glowing, she traces lazy hearts on her stomach, the final intimate signature of double mestectomy.