by Jim Parr
(01/23/02)
When Gretchen goes down, there is lust. She has
small hands, but they grip you firmly, with skill and
conviction.
When Gretchen goes down, her tight spandex grips her
round ass, her wide hips, her smooth thighs. Her
knees on the bed, you between them looking up then
down as she drops deeper, sinking slowly into the shag
carpet.
When Gretchen goes down, the motel lights are on and
a fan whirs in the bathroom above the toilet and the
sound of it sinks into your skull like acid, man,
moving you with its strange rhythm. It is like ocean
waves rolling in for eternity, and Gretchen feels it
as well. Gretchen glancing up, dark mascara making
her large eyes look haunted, then ducking down,
holding your cock, pointing it up, moving it gently
aside because her desire is your balls at the base of
it, sagging gently in your red sack. Her lips are
warm and sticky and they open and the moist tongue
comes out, licking you. She is breathing hard and
it's hot on your cock and lower abdomen.
And Gretchen goes down, leaning over, reaching back
with her free hand, fingers finding her cleft,
stroking the shallow lengths of it as she sucks your
balls, the base of your cock, then up, loving every
swollen inch of it.
When Gretchen goes down, her black hair is in your
lap, flowing over your thighs like rich and exotic
oil, all dusky and warm, and smelling like the tropics.
Like coconut oil and avocados and damp earth and lush
green undergrowth.
When Gretchen goes down, the world stops revolving,
reaching, frozen for this single second of ecstasy, as
her lips close around the sharp head of your cock,
teething it gently, suspended.
When Gretchen goes down, there is sadness and
strength and ecstasy. Gripping a fist in her thick hair,
as her head dips down taking every inch of you, cheeks sunken in,
sucking, then up. And always breathing softly.
When Gretchen goes down again, you arch your back and
grip her hair and your stomach clenches in a pleasing
agony.
When Gretchen goes down, she senses your moment of
extremity with unfailing accuracy and starts almost
gnawing on the pulsating tip with her perfect teeth
and you almost scream you are so ecstatic and semen
pumps into her open mouth, oozing out and down the
sides of your cock like warm milky oils.
When Gretchen goes down, the earth pauses and the
lights go on and the waves roll in. It is always the
magic hour. It is always dusk.
And then Gretchen goes down and the world resumes and
the stars come out and cars cruise by and the fan in
the bathroom whirs and she shuts it off.
