After a bout of passion, Lucy Campbell snuggled beside James Brown, her face still showing the afterglow, like a kitten that's had its fill.
Lucy was holding a tissue, wiping James Brown's mouth, while James said, "Stop wiping, I'll get up and wash my face soon."
"Still, I have to wipe it, otherwise it makes me uncomfortable, there's stuff from me all over your mouth."
James couldn't help but laugh, "I don't feel anything wrong at all, how come you do?"
"That's different, it's my own stuff, and it's coming from me. Of course, I feel uneasy. It's like if I ate something of yours, then kissed you and spat it in your mouth, could you accept it?"
James chuckled dryly; Lucy's comparison was quite apt. He had no desire to eat his own stuff; people are weird that way. What he doesn't want to eat himself, he hopes the other person will. He said, "I told you to let go just now, but you didn't."
