Cock, Suck, and Fuck Are Not Bad Words

Ticket for Jay Farrar…must…be…purchased…

I think I have found another customer for TH: the AM fraulein at Ancora. I ran into Jessie there this morning and she overheard our conversation. She said that she had been to that café across the street whose-name-must-not-be-spoken and I swiftly reprimanded her.

They'll stone ya when you're tryin' to go home
Then they'll stone ya when you're tryin’ to slick your bone

My desire to fornicate with her is intense. Let me rephrase that: I really wanna slip her the Polish sausage in the natural casing. As Eddie Cochran would say, that Kobieta is something else. But I’ll be content with The Dulcinea – for now. I mean, I’ve already volunteered to help fund her birth control. I’m just too nice. While she’s not my girlfriend, I still feel obligated to pitch in towards it. After all, I can forego those pleasure-dampening condoms and get to not be a father out of the deal.

Speaking of her, she came (hehe) over a couple nights ago. I was engaged with watching Frontline and my mind was preoccupied with politics and great dislike for Dubya. Honestly, I really wanted to watch the whole thing but with The Dulcinea’s hand in my underwear I quickly got into another mood altogether. Before long we were up in my room and she somehow lost her clothes. It’s rather fun to be clothed while she isn’t. I get this odd sense of control like, “Ha! Ha! You’re wearing clothes and I’m not so you have to submit to my every touch, caress, knead, etc.” From there it was off to graze the sweet bottom grass. The foreplay got me quite excited and I really got into it. My head was bobbing and weaving and gave my tongue those few extra foot-pounds of energy per second, per second. Basking in the afterglow, she pondered aloud if I could get hard again before I fell asleep. Alas, I dashed all of her hopes and proceeded to fall asleep. But not for long.

I was awoken from my post coital slumbers by her hand between my legs. That’s one thing I really like about The Dulcinea: she doesn’t fuck around when it comes to fucking. If she wants to be rogered roundly, she doesn’t let a little thing like the fact that I’m unconscious stop her. She stole into my house during the wee hours one morning after she’d had an evening at the Weary Traveler. (How fortuitous that we don't generally lock our door.) Shortly after she entered my room, I entered her. The odd thing about times like these is my single-mindedness. Once aroused from sleep, the only part of my brain that’s working is the part that thrusts my hips. My mind is in a haze and I barely know when or where I am. Intellectual matters are swept aside. I almost don’t know who I am or who she is. All I do know at that point is to fuck. A wonderful product of evolution am I.

I had fun with you last night - I had forgotten how you react to being touched in the middle of the night, you gasp as if you've been burned, and then moan so deliciously.

OK, I forgot that I gasp and moan too.