Viewing the local antiquities

Only in the District 
was I given the service paramount: being rimmed.

Face down, after the massage-y, I feel her breath at my cheeks, then her tongue up my anus. Swelling, I get up on all fours to relieve the pressure and not waste a come. I put my head down and look back between my legs.

Isn't kissing ass what politics is all about?


"Give away" 

Isn't it true that what truly ultimately differentiates a product can't be bought or sold? Even in the marketplace for sex?

What a whore gives away is what makes her flesh her flesh:

Her touch, her smell, her secretions; her voice, her laugh; her stance; her conversation—

Remembered somethings in the way she moves. For the regular.


The alphabet 

A is for Annie, who sucked on my balls
B is for Barbara, who did nothing at all.



In the evening, as I walk past 
2221, I spot a small, dark-crested figure pulling a trolley bag across the parking lot toward the green door, which opens to an oblong of yellow light.

She must have come to the house from the Greyhound nearby.



Mei-ling first, 
as have, since, many others, reached up her right hand to fondle my balls while we fucked, doggy-style. Self-interested, of course, since she wanted my come in her own good time, but a lagniappe still. The act must be awkward for her: Supporting her own weight on her knees and one hand, she found me blindly, knowing only where I must be, without missing a beat in our mutual action.

It takes a sure touch: How gentle she is, though we are both busy: My balls brush brush brush against her arpeggios as I thwack thwack thwack.

Someone peeping through my legs from behind would see her gesture as beckoning.

Often, a lewd act excites not from sensation, but knowledge: Knowing that someone, once, imagined this—then did it, then did it again. And again and again and again.


Tags: ; ; ; .

The first time holding hands. 
I remember Lan's tiny ribbed top, white with little blue cornflowers at the V of the neck:

And a pale yellow stain below the point of the V.

I felt at the time it was a dribble of coffee; thought it strange such a well-bred girl would be so careless in her dress.

Now I wonder if it was semen.


All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."
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