Skip to main content

Giving Shit

With his mouth, on her nipple, she could feel the sensations to all of her upper body. When her back arched up in reaction, this worked only to further her breast into Edward Julian Watson's mouth.
And this sucked for Becki. It tickled far too much for her liking.
But she would not complain. She had not told Edward Julian Watson she would prefer if he touched her pussy first.
So Becki just pulled Edward Julian Watson's big head back up towards her mouth, and kissed him again.

Becki turned out the lights, before Edward Julian Watson was even down the stairs. Then she went to her chest of drawers, opening the top one and slid her hand into the back and beneath her undergarments. And when she heard Edward Julian Watson's blue Datsun start up and pull away, she walked over to her window and she opened the it. And the night air was warmer than she had expected. She took a cigarette from the paper packaging and she lit it. She stared at the tops of the trees and the moonlight and the stars.
"What the hell was that?" she finally asked herself out loud.
And Ms. Johnson,from below, said "Girl, I do not know what the hell anything is most times, but things I do know right now is that you got a cigarette up there and I know too, that I told you about smoking in your rooms when I rented to you. So I think you better get on down here and share that with me."



Labels:

Comments

robert d said…
Nicely pen to paper put.

Snapping out,
d
Tuesday, 3 January 2006 at 00:18:00 GMT-5
Prof. Antonio Pille said…
Splendid site. We at the Institute offer thanks for your brief yet winsome comment!
Monday, 9 January 2006 at 19:28:00 GMT-5
Prof. Antonio Pille said…
PS--Remain eyeballed upon the Panopticon for a stirring tribute to your dual-worded ejaculation.
Monday, 9 January 2006 at 19:30:00 GMT-5
Queenie said…
Ain't you winsome yourself!

Q
Monday, 9 January 2006 at 22:44:00 GMT-5
mig bardsley said…
It's always a pleasure to read one of your new posts. I always feel you've brought me right into the moment.
Tuesday, 10 January 2006 at 22:21:00 GMT-5
Queenie said…
Thank you for saying that.
:)

Q
Wednesday, 11 January 2006 at 00:01:00 GMT-5
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Unending Paper Chase

You check in on me when you get your break for lunchtime now. You never used to. You ask me, "Are you all right?" You breath in and out hard once through your nose, like it is a chore to even ask. It seems to me that for you everything is an obligation, even holding my hand. Everything you do doesn't feel like anything more than surveillance now. I don't want the days to end and it is getting harder to sleep at night. I am starting to feel sick, like I have the flu. I'm always cold. But I haven't eaten much lately. My stomach is filled with acid. I smile at you anyway. I write two letters a day. One to keep you smiling and one that tells of the truth, but they both look the same. You do not know that I form certain words and sentences in a way that triggers me, in a way that reminds me of what is real. It is something that I started doing in grade school for tests, so that I could easily remember the answers, and then later, so my mother would not underst...
3 comments
Read more

Boxing Day

Countless times, on the weekends when you are here, you leave for me a stream of yellow in the bathtub. Something angled wrong in this 160 year old building. Sometimes you hit the tiles, as you whip your dick to the left to spray. Do you hold a finger over your pisshole? Do you laugh inside your head? I don't want to know. She bathes in there too.  I have been kind even letting you here. It is only because I love your father.    It is May or June, I don't remember. As sickness washes over me and the rest of the planet too, it can be easy to lose track of time. We tend to the plants, stroke their leaves and name them all. We watch the cat grow fatter, as she lolls in the sun on the stolen chair cushion she's dragged to the hard cement balcony floor. I feel like I know Gamer Chad better than myself and she complains about Jordan Peterson. She can't stand his voice.  But I am more tired and angry on weekends. I tell my her so. I tell her my solution. She tells me she...
Post a Comment
Read more

Below One Eye

It's just a phase, the Moon says to her, when she tells him she can't sleep. Up again, at 6 a.m., tossing and turning through fitful dreams. The sort of dreams that say, You can still have this, if you want this. Weeks of them again now. They are not unpleasant, especially if she can wake herself up fast when she realises where she is. Before she sees his face. She has taken to arming herself with protection. She conjures up her older brother's face and he brings along his wife. They stand beside her and help wake her up. "But if you don't want to," her brother says, leaves the offer on the plate, "I can kill him instead." But I disagree. He doesn't want to die. And that's such a shame. It is the end of winter now. It holds on like the cat who doesn't want to be picked up. The hateful sort of cat; the kind who would spit at you instead of nuzzle. And that makes it hard. Not to want This. She has said nothing to him, that she hasn't...
Post a Comment
Read more