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My own secret life 
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Die Zeit, die ist ein sonderbar Ding
I grab the pillow; up comes her pelvis. "Here?" "No, I was going to put it under your head, if that would be comfortable for you." Grabbing her hips, I yank her body down on the bed, centering it so I won't bang my head on the mirror. Her head lifts: I plunk the pillow under: her thighs pull back, her legs Now open wide: I settle my tip between her fat lips: she heaves her hips up me Good and I'm in her: Pinning and spreading her. My toes, way back there, almost hanging of the end of the bed: they're cramping. Clenching my jaw I start pounding her: Plunging my cock Shtup up under her pubic bone up into her meaty juiced warmth: Then pause: grind her motte with my pelvis: reducing the sauce: thickening: She gives me her small Yes I know now, wrapping her arms round my shoulders. New leverage: I start pounding again: She raises her left leg vertical, sliding her foot up the wall, further spreading herself: Now I know know know know Yes know Yes Yes know— She kegels me: milks me: milks me: lizard backbrain galvanic jerking my pelvis my cock: Having hammered the piton into her cliff face I swing silverroped panting in the summit's thin air: Then pull out into the coolth: ease myself out crawling back bobbing, careful the condom keeps holding my load: Arrange myself between her spreadwidestill warm muscular legs: encircle her shoulders with my arms: rest sleepyhead between her sweaty breasts: lay my right ear to her chest: Blood pump blood pump blood pump blood pump  "The world is not fair. I am 37. After a woman's period stops, 80% she doesn't want to have sex. I have only two years accounting in Thailand, and two more years of schooling here. My English is not good. I was not brought up well. I don't blame them! "What do you want to do?" "To own a shop, a shop that tells Thai sweets. I would live on the second floor, with a garden in the back, and have a dog. Two dogs!" "Here?" "In Thailand, home with my brothers. Family is best." Out on the street, dusk. Starlings, massed darts, swoop down to the maples by the hotel de ville, finding their home branches; whistling, strutting, gossiping, tweaking their nests; folding black wings. And on Angel's nightstand had been the gold business card of the night manager at the Ritz. {320} 4 Comments:
Angel's words keep coming back to haunt me. I wonder, why can't she go home and fulfill her dream? Has she not made enough money yet? She's 37---how long has she been a prostitute and how many years does she have left? And how long does it take to make enough money to go home anyway, when she's making--how much?---per hour fucking the night manager of the Ritz with his gold business card? By
My thought on the night manager's card was that it was convention business. By
Could the idea also be implicitly female? if language reflects psychology and/or social conditioning?---- thinking of all the buzzwords about female "fulfillment" from '60s feminism onwards---biologically, in sex, for example, women are vessels to be filled. Women are filled full--indeed, women like to feel filled. Feel full. Filled full. Fulfilled. By "Dream" she used. I don't know if she would have used fulfill -- because of the Ls.... All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."
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