Private Contemplations
Author's Note: I do not own Inuyasha, do not claim to. Rumiko Takahashi owns these characters.
--x--
At first I thought you were a man of the cloth. Then I knew you were a pervert. It didn't take you long, when we first met, to establish that you were much more than you appeared.
How can one possess any spiritual power when one is consumed with the unholy desire to grope a woman's bottom parts? You blame the cursed hand, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it is a red herring you hide behind. There are times when I don't doubt that, had the void not been in your palm, you would still find a way to let that hand find its way to the rounded backside of a woman.
When we first met I could not stand you. Moreover, I could not stand the attraction I felt for you. You are a pervert—I shouldn't enjoy the attention you pay me. You violate me, you disrespect my body, you don't understand the concept of personal space (not the space around a woman's butt, at least). And yet…
Yet I find that each time I feel the now-familiar press of your fingers to my bottom, I get a tiny (very tiny) shiver of pleasure. Of course, I cannot let you know this. If I did, I fear it would spoil what we have. If it was no longer forbidden to you, I wonder if it would hold the same appeal. Are all derrières created equal, or is mine special? Or is it merely the allure of doing something you shouldn't? Is the candy as sweet when it's given, and not stolen? I don't want these questions answered. I'm content with the way it is now: you grab, I smack, and that's the end of it.