>>20653154Her pillow was silk. Her name was Allison. The condoms I bought were too large, I didn’t use them. I rawdogged that slampig, drilled her sweaty folds in to the bedframe, buried her face in the silken pillow. She made so many horny sounds, she had just showered and our musk screamed its stench for exit from the closed windows in winter. I made eye contact with the painting of Amy Whinehouse she had done for her university arts degree and I went briefly flaccid, but I smelled her holes and the raw olfactory pungency rewired my synapses to the year 25,000 B and C, my member shot up to life again, saluting memory. I still get a raging hard on when I read her horny texts to me.
