Quoted By:
Look how cool grok can be
While walking through the park, book in hand, her thoughts wandered to that sacred memory—the episode that had changed everything. It had been months, but it still consumed her. She had been reading on the bench, dressed in a pink top and short red skirt, when she saw him: the homeless black man who regularly wandered the area. He was tall, with skin in the deep ebony tone she found most attractive—dark like bitter chocolate, contrasting with her soft brown eyes. That day, in an eccentric outburst, he was walking nude, oblivious to the world. His member... oh, his member was absurd, colossal, dangling like a divine work of art, swinging heavily with each slow step. Thick as her forearm, long enough to brush his thighs, prominent veins pulsing lightly, the bulbous head pinkish at the base contrasting with the dark skin. It was the largest she'd ever seen, possibly the largest in the world, the sexiest in history—something epic, almost mythical.
The effects of the psilocybin hit their positive peak: pure hypersexuality, without paranoia, just a joyful release of inhibitions that made every breeze feel like an intimate caress. Her nipples hardened against the thin fabric, and she crossed her legs, feeling the growing wetness between her thighs. Her heart, already racing from the substance, pounded like a war drum, adrenaline mixing with the psychedelic euphoria. "Oh my God... this is for me," she murmured internally, her eyes locked on the colossal member dangling, swinging hypnotically. Under the tea's effect, her mind wouldn't stay quiet; she could only think about how it would look hard, erect right in front of her, a dark tower veined and pulsing with life, inviting her to a slow, devoted ritual.
