His lips touch mine; they nip and pull, and although I see sweet succulent lips characteristic of a woman, I feel a man’s powerful grip against the curve of my body.

They hold me close, desperate and compulsive.

Frantically feeling me; I return the favor, touching the soft skin; letting my hand drift along the wide curves of his body.

I feel a woman’s body, but I do not feel a woman. And I see a female body, but I do not see a female.

And I love neither the scarred biology pressing against me, nor the man begging to be let out of its prison of flesh, no.

I love the human being that holds me, the human being whose heart beats against mine.