Thursday, March 09, 2006
At least he’d had the sense to pull out and bust on the tile. Fucking, her wetness just insane in its completeness, the sensation of the hot water falling on him, her moaning, his thrusts, the buildup, he’d came too late too early at the perfect time; she didn’t seem to care, he didn’t even know her name yet, just that she looked like Samantha fox and it wasn’t even the 80’s anymore, but who could tell with wet hair, both up and down, and he’d remembered at the last second, her bent over and no words of whether or not to withdraw as he announced the moment of truth, he’d yanked his shit out and spurted into the waterfall of blue green shiny formica or whatever the hell it was, confident that his paramour for the moment would not come back with the turkey baster and make a cake inside her uterus for posterity’s purpose of jacking all his money that he didn’t even have anyway.
Seriously, though, what the fuck was going on? Yeah, it was Vegas, and times were crazy, but who had flipped the anti-doom switch on this rambunctious yet g-rated scenario that had up to this point been his life? Suddenly he was that guy, the one who has a bitch on each shoulder and laughs at the billboard showing the family man going outside to fix the lawnmower. The world was sitting on a platter in front of him, the tv dinner of endless poonanny, and all he could think of was when was guy smiley gonna burst out from behind the curtain on stage left and announce he’d been the most recent butt of the nation’s joke as they choked on chicken bones in front of their televisions and laughed their asses off at him to prevent the endless supply of tears that might ensue if they were to take all of 4 seconds to take a deep look at their innermost souls and motivations.