Romantic Bullcrap
The smell of alcohol, sweat and shame hung heavy in the night air as I made my way through seas of young, vibrant gyrating bodies. The call had went out, understood by all despite the toxic inebriation that most youth possess on a Saturday night.
The sweet nectar of the barley gods touched my lips not for the first time that night, and as I drank from the glass goblet of the king, she caught my eye.
Skulking, dancing in and out of the shadows she approached me. Her lips, full and red, her breasts swollen and lustful, the haze of inebriation caused other swellings to go by the wayside.
I could think of nothing that I wanted more than to touch my lustful goddess, yet alas her beauty filled the entire backseat of the taxi and I could not help but adore her from the front seat, dazed by what was to come.
Our bodies intertwined in a lustful embrace, we made our way to the bedroom, hardly noticing the appliances falling, crashing around us in our haste to embody the sweet taste of young lust.
Draped over the dresser her clothing was, the folds and billows resembling the most beautiful silk in all of China.
I fell onto her, resting in the soft embrace, reveling in the beauty, every fold, ever dimple, every billow of her satiny body. I slowly made my way down her body, kissing here, nibbling there, stopping to inhale the pungent aroma of womanhood. I stopped, suggesting we move our passion to the shower.
The water cascaded around her body, creating a sheen akin to thousands of beautiful gleaming gemstones. She held the soap in her elegant, bulbous hand, bubbles cascading down her body and silhouetting her generous curves like a waterfall in a beautiful rain forest. Looking, lusting, hoping and praying, she bent over to pick up the soap so lovingly dropped, pausing only to look back at me with a glance of whimsy.
It was morning. The song of a dozen birds swayed me gently awake, the dance of the golden morning sun opened my bleary eyes. I saw my last call
