I remember moving in her and thinking, I could marry this girl. I remember cupping her small hard breasts in my hands when I entered her from behind and the way she drove hard against my lips when she came. Lately I’ve been remembering how her room was almost empty and everything was white, how the winter sun washed her slim girlish body in a cool marble light. To read every Esquire story ever published, upgrade to All Access. This article originally appeared in the February 2001 issue of Esquire.
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