Poetry was the smoke-filled air that made his chest ache, velvet were the sheets that could not house enough warmth on the chilled night but, somehow,...were more than enough to make his arms slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. The girders that made him were not undone by Her but by his willingness to accept the healing Love could gift. Such is the essence of all creation. These are the rules. The shifting from one song to another brought him to the present smoothly, the memory brought both. We were naked, horny and accessible all the time. I bought a camera so I could take pictures of you fucking or sucking cock. Then I would take one of you two lying there your cunt freshly fucked and his cock limp and wet flopping over onto your leg. I still have a picture of you fucking, his cock in you, your legs over his shoulders, tits and neck flush with lust and your toes curling. When I look at it Ill talk to you about what a dirty girl you are and youll have your vibrator going and Ill. More

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