Viewing the local antiquities

Her aching back 

The gold chain round her bare neck does not swing:

Her shoulders are stiff:

She bears her weight on her knees:

But her pelvis reciprocates smoothly:

Sure as a girl gymnast stepping through her routine on the balance beam—

she / does / her / trick:

pumping me to a quick come.


Tags: ; .

Other voices, other rooms 
and call Annie's old agency, on the off chance:

"Who do you have working today, and what do they look like?"

"I have Angel and Marissa. Angel is 5'6", blonde, 34C, 120 pounds, 23—" [click].

I redial the number: Non est disponsible.

I buy a banana (phosphorus!) in the corner store to kill time. Then redial.

"Call back in 10 minutes."

"I'm back. Marissa?"

"Marissa is 5'2", dark hair, 32B, 100 pounds, 22."

"Could I make an appointment with Marissa at 4:30 for two hours?"

"What is your name"?


"Call back at 4:10."

"What is the address?"

"This is John. I have an appointment with Marissa for 4:30?

"The apartment number and the code is 708."

The chain rattles; the door opens.

Marissa is a studious-looking girl with thick black rectangular-framed hipster glasses; the bridge of her nose is so broad she looks like she's peering around it. For a moment I think she's too tall, but it's only the high heels she shows she doesn't know how to walk in, as she stilts her way into the dinette with the money.

"May I take a shower"?

Naked, she stands; I forget the bridge of her nose and her gait, kneeling before her: Her breasts are small, fresh, resilient; no sag: so few have erected her nipples as I do, now, shyly one, tenderly the other, that they pinkly hardly protrude from her flesh.

She sits on the bed, falls backward. I put my hands on her thighs and push them slowly apart: her cunt pouts, fresh too: pink with not a hint of brown, not yet dewy. Seeing the folds, the whorls, grokking the French term of endearment mon petite chou, still with my hands parting her thighs, I lower my head—

"I don't do that."

Above me, she frenches me like Ming did: With two hands molding her cheeks, I
slip my right index down her crack, find her anus, but not slipping my finger in, press: a dry star.

Not on all fours but down on her elbows, her face crammed into the pillow, her knees drawn close to her torso, she pokes her butt as far up in the air as she can, her cheeks so much plumper than I expected, her cunt [mounting her] so much tighter:

Young, cocktight, smacksolid:

Comes the moment of knowledge: not faith or belief or conviction: that coming is possible, ahead, across the long plateau of her back: as she works:

Why would anyone want more than this resonant sound from such, a, small, girl:

One stroke short I stop pumping, so my climax is a single large spasm.

It's been more than a year that I've been Angel's regular.


Tags: ; ; .

Is she, or isn't she? 

I follow her down the aisle, admiring the dragon tattooed green in the brown flesh of the small of her back.

She shoves the door at the end of the car open, then turns:

One hand at the handle of the tiny overnight roller bag: long nails.

Much too long pearly nails, flawless; too long for typing, dialing, writing; too long to hold the pen while taking an order; too long to pick up a plate or a tray; too long to change sheets or wash dishes; too long to grasp a knife or a ladle.

Long nails perfect for artfully scratching his belly; his balls; for digging into his back, his cheeks.

With her other hand, she clutches a West Highland Terrier, a puppy, to her breast.

"I couldn't live without him!"

Other possible sightings
Here, here, here, here, and here.


Tags: ; .

Archaic smiles 

Reversed in the glass, Jenny's crouched on her forearms, golden ass high: glossy black head bowed, hands cupped under the bowl that she laps from to steady it:

Her palms nudge me up: Up: My own hands slide down my thighs, pull my knees further back toward my shoulders, cant my center of gravity easily up to her feasting mouth:

Reversed in the glass: My legs, flung outward, spread even more widely: Jenny's black hair swings as she roots at my crotch: Twirls her rolled tongue hot into my asshole: Circles the rim: Sweetens my inner thighs: Circles back, sinks in me again, twirls: I'm aware that I'm cooing appreciatively:

Her tongue swipes my perineum travelling back up to my balls.

Her saliva drains warm down my asscrack.

Her skin gold my skin pink in the pink-shaded light: Her glossy head works, but all else is still.

Reversed in the glass, her round head where my cheeks split, the gentle slope of her back, leading the eyes, elated, up, caressing, up to cup her cheeks—

If they could—

My long thighs pulled back tense, my knees to my shoulders, my dangling calves, my toes pointing to heaven:

Sprung sinewy lines like the lewd artwork revealed when a kylix is drained.

(Twenty years ago, Sue called me a kouroi.)

Even the swell of my belly is beautiful.

To see, look, feel, hear: see myself taking: look at her giving: feel her hot tongue blade my anus: hear her slurping, flicking, licking, sucking: feel a puff of cool air at my anus: laughing—

While my come teased artfully up the thin throat of my shaft—






Quicksilver endlessly rising:


Plop. Slurp. Lap, lap, lap. Splurch. [Suction.] Plop.

Reversed in the glass, she lifts her head, rocks back on her heels.—


Tags: ; ; .

Her breath rattles 
and the night nurse has the morphine at hand.

("I am sorry I have to kill you!")

It would have been all about me.


Tags: ; .

All characters and situations fictional. Copyright (c) 2003-2007 by "John Psmyth."
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours? Cunning Linguists Image hosted by Photobucket.com Blogarama - The Blog Directory Listed on BlogShares Listed on BlogsCanada

Where viewers come from:
Locations of visitors to this page
Auto-updated daily since 27-12-04

eXTReMe Tracker