Still nude, talking, standing with her feet planted wide apart, Annie squats slightly, bending her knees to spread her legs wider. She shoves the bunched towel deep under herself and rubs back and forth, wiping my spooge and the lube from her lips and bush. Near the door, I'm quick-stepping into my shoes; if I'm not out in two minutes, I'll hear her six o'clock knock. {280}
When the taxis were running again I had Gabrielle, and after I helped her on with her coat, I presented her with a bottle of water from the case I'd laid in on the first day the storm lifted.
"I will always think of this as John's water," she said gravely, accepting it.
{280}
I saw, I conquered, I came. Lan threw herself back on the bed and splayed her tiny thighs 180 degrees: After exactly one half-stroke up her I came.
"I'm sorry."
"It's the pro: cess."
Her sweet coo; her syncopated voice.
{NA}
>> posted by John Psmyth • 2/05/2004 09:00:00 PM •
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Is she, or isn't she? I walk down the streets of the Plateau, and desiring a girl that I see, ask myself: Most, I think, don't ask this question, or if they ask it, ask it already knowing the answer. I ask it all the time. Why? Not her clothes, of course: Whores dress more modestly while working than most of our teens, even in brothels. Perhaps she carries a purse that's too small. Perhaps she walks as if being naked is her cost of doing business. Perhaps she looks like a girl who can't say No. {NA}
>> posted by John Psmyth • 2/02/2004 06:21:00 PM •
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All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."
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