I thought at first that the whole experience was some sort of d**g-induced hallucination and I felt free to just relax and wait for it to stop. My r**...*t pumped in and out of me furiously as though desperate or angry, but I couldn't tell for sure whether he was enjoying it or not. It looked so pathetic, like masturbating with an inflatable doll. There was no romance, no passion, no adventure. I remember thinking that if I was going to go through the effort of r****g somebody, I would have made. It was fiery red, with nothing I could make out that would hold it in place over her breasts. I couldn't see how gravity wouldn't take its toll and allow the shimmering material to fall, with embarrassing consequences. It was a blazing streak of red, from bust to floor, with a long, open slit up the front. One of the mannequin's thighs was pushed forward through the slit. Her bare leg was exposed nearly to the hip in a pose that was both elegant and sexy."Would you wear that?" I asked, trying. More

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