Their eyes smouldered as they looked at each other. She leaned back, ready to accept his embrace… and her elbow landed in a pile of catshit on the bed.

she was in my front seat today. within six inches of me. what but tightness filled that six inches? a thick, taut wall of tension. of me wanting her to want me to want her. of her wanting to want me but not being able to.

what of the impish smile, the pixie hair, the ethereal glow of her eyes, her skin, her pretty pink toenails? i love that her eyebrow is pierced. i secretly wish i’d thought of it first. i trace the tattoo peeking from her tank top lovingly, with my eyes. she doesn’t notice. she fiddles nervously with the radio.

i want to, but i can’t. she can’t, but wants to.

what if we did?

i got some on the dining room floor this morning.

some what?

some sex, you fucking prude. you do remember sex, don’t you?

didn’t they mention that in health class or something?

it was part of that big pyramid, the recommended daily allowances. at my age, i should have 6-8 daily servings of sex. if you can squeeze in some whole grains during the sex, that’s even better for you.

how many did you have today?

three, this morning. but it’s only one o’clock.

were they large helpings? because i heard it’s better to have several small helpings throughout the day than three big ones with none in between.

small helpings don’t do shit for me. i have several big ones throughout the day. this guy at the office, he’s the biggest. followed by the guy who comes to read the meter. i don’t think it really needs reading once a week, but at least my house won’t explode.

is it like a buffet, where you charge for splitting servings between two people?

i should charge, shouldn’t i? that’s a free fucking ride, right there. i mean, the cable guy came over while i was fucking the pool boy on the deck, just walked right around the back when i didn’t answer the doorbell. what the hell, i say. one o’cock, two o’cock, three o’cock rock. i fucked him too, and the neighbor boy who mows lawns on weekends. i think he’s of legal age. what’s legal, anyway?

yeah, you should charge. but then that’s not legal.

legal, schmegal. i get free cable, my pool is pristine, and my lawn is always mowed.

well, yeah, there’s that.

damn it all to hell, and beyond.

oh, so far beyond.

why are the bouncy tits in the office just at my eye-level when i am sitting at my desk, working? why are my tits not bouncy? there is an air about these fashion plate girls, something unattainable. it’s tangible, even to a female who is not prowling. it shrouds them in a thick cloak made of fuck, you want me, and you are such a loser that i will never, ever want you.

do they make those cloaks in my size?

i truly hate everyone. pretty much.
fucking valley girls.
wait i take that back.
her skin is so smooth and her eyes ore so big. she looks so fragile.
i want to fuck her. or slap her. or fuck her. or slap her?

i strode toward him, stared him in the face, fuming. he stood casually, looking me up and down with a perverse eye and a smirking countenance. he waited, tapping his foot, his smirk spreading slowly into a smarmy grin. waited for what? for me to kick both legs out from under him, forcing him to the ground beneath me, stunned. for me to squat and hit him, with my cupped right hand, in the side of his head, shattering his left eardrum. for me to break his ribs with the heels of my sexy boots. for me to snap his neck.

test post.