His fingers, like icky putty to the touch. She didn’t want him touching and nibbling her neck. Why they ended up in the bedroom for him to prove he was no good at fucking, again, she couldn’t rightly fathom. She felt like a dumb ass while her head banged and knocked whatever sense she had left against the headboard.
She looked him over. Sweat beads lining his forehead. Him feeling good and shit. Suddenly, came the ugly face, ’cause he was no looker anyhow. Then, he collapsed and fixed his mouth to ask, “So Babe, when you riding the pony?”
(c) 2012 Totsymae