On Monday, my guy looked at my left hand and reached out to hold it in his. He loves looking at my nails.
"I love the purple nail polish that you have on. Your nails always look perfect to me," he said.
"Thanks, sweetie," I replied, accepting his compliment.
On Friday, as I was driving home from work, he called me. He is doing well in Cairo, but misses me. The feeling is definitely mutual.
"I keep thinking about your freshly manicured nails," he admitted.
"You're being sweet," I replied.
"I really like that colour. I wish that your hands with your nice manicure would give me a handjob," he noted.
"When you're back home in two weeks, I'd be happy to give you one and more," I replied.
He was happy. I was, too.
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