Touch does not lie. Fiction.
One day, a male stranger touched me. He worked at the building outside my apartment block but he was a stranger to me. I was not on speaking terms with him.
He was trying to make a point. He pleaded for acceptance as an intimate partner. He had told his colleague in a loud voice, he was sickly and wanted a woman to take care of him. The loud tone was deliberate. I ignored it because I knew I wasn’t that woman. I had my own family.
One day, when I stopped by his office to drop off a few envelopes at his building, he reached out to grab my right index finger. Just like that. Without provocation from my part. It was the weirdest freaky act.
His touch was firm. His skin, smooth. Unlikely from a sick man. Touch does not lie. He is not sick. He should not be fishing for a woman to ensnare in domestic slavery.
Writing prompt from BraveWrite:
🗣#BraveWrite Prompt June 17:— BraveWrite®️™️ 🕊 (@BraveWrite) June 16, 2020
Prompt Optional✨All Welcome
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