Copyright © 1997
"Let me just turn the radio off..."
"No. Leave it on."
"OK. Usually you want it off, though. How about this? This OK?"
"No...not that one."
"This? Boom-ba-boom...yeah, baby--"
"No. You know I can't stand Metal."
"Well, there's nothing ON. Commercial...commercial...Talk Show..."
"Wait--stop! Right there--back a little--"
"THIS?! Twangy-twangy? Arab music?"
"Not Arab, Indian. From India. It's a sitar. Leave that on."
"You gotta be kidding. Sounds like somebody's torturing a cat."
"Well, that's what I want. Just leave it."
"You're weird. Now...where were we...?"
The Prince looked down at the girl as she knelt before him.
She was striking, there could be no doubt about that. The girl was fairer than most women he had known, and he glimpsed her pale skin through the gaps in the silk scarves that were wound about her. Her hair was dark, at least as far as he could tell. Her eyes, too, though at the moment they were downcast as she awaited his direction. It was difficult to tell much about her from this position. But then, her concealment only added to the sweetness of his anticipation. He spoke, dispassionately.
"Raise your head, girl."
Her chin snapped upwards, as if jerked by an invisible string.
So young! His eyes widened, and his gaze softened as he took in the smooth curves of her face, her jawline. Her cheeks still showed hints of youthful baby-fat.
"My child--"
The girl looked right back at him, and dared to speak. "I came of age several years past, Great Rajah. I am in truth no child, though I am told that I seem much younger." Then her eyes opened wide at what she had done, and she lowered her lashes as a bright blush spread across her cheeks.
He chuckled, and murmured "no child indeed! But you must know, Little One, that I am no Rajah yet. I am but the eldest son, the rajaputra. And so shall I remain for some time, I have no doubt."
The girl looked at him from beneath her long, dark lashes. "I have heard otherwise, Great Rajah," she said in a low voice. "Do the people not sing and tell of the deeds of the Mighty Prince? Of his fierce prowess in the arts of war and..." The red blush bloomed again, twin patches of red on either side of her small face.
The Prince chuckled once more, and his broad smile reflected his amusement. "What a bold Little Sparrow you are! Go on--finish the thought. The arts of war and..." Defiantly, she raised her chin further. "And the arts of...love, Great Rajah. For it is whispered that you are a mighty and skilled warrior indeed, in both battlefield and...bed-chamber."
She had spirit, that was certain. A slip of a girl--a child, really--matching words with him. He could only imagine how much it had taken for her to speak up like that, there on her knees before the most feared warrior in the Raj. He gazed silently at her from between shaggy brows and half-closed lids. Her lower lip was trembling. Small wonder. She was likely frightened by the tall, craggy man with close-trimmed black beard and piercing eyes. Was she a novice, then?
He spoke, soft words in his softest voice. "So, Little One? Have you come to test my mettle, then? What do you know of swords, let alone sheathed ones? Even if you are as old as you say, you do not have the look of one well-acquainted with...battle."
The lower lip trembled more noticeably, and the pale girl stammered for a moment before regaining her composure. "It may be even as you say, Great Rajah," she said. "But if I lack experience I am still not unskilled. Perhaps you will find me a fair partner, even for one of your great ability at swordplay."
The Prince looked at the girl kneeling in front of him and nodded. "Perhaps," he mused. "Perhaps." He clapped his hands once, sharply. "Let us see what you speak of. Dance then, Little One. Dance!"
"Yeah, baby, yeah. Feel me, baby? My rock-hard rod?"
"Mmm."
"I'm hard for you, baby. And we're gonna fuck, yeah."
"Mmm."
"That's right. I'm gonna fuck you hard, till you beg for more."
" "
"You want it, don't you, baby? Don't you?"
" "
"You want it...I can tell. Let's get rid of those clothes now."
"Mmm."
With a sinuous, graceful motion, the girl rocked back on her heels and unwound from where she knelt on the rich carpets. She stood upright for a moment, cupping her palms in front of her in the supplicant's posture. The Prince feigned boredom, but behind his lazy glance he reassessed the motionless young woman before him. Though the silken scarves swathed about her still hid much, they could not fully conceal the pleasing roundness of her curves, the swell of her bosom, the womanly hips he had missed earlier. Bemused at the way this girl mixed a child's freshness with the ripeness of a woman, the Prince did not hear the light strains of music commence in the next chamber. But the girl was aware of the faint plucking of the sitar, and as a slow, stately rhythm asserted itself she began to dance.
Slowly she extended her arms and spread them apart. Bright fuscia and turquoise silk wrappings fell away from her forearms, revealing thin chain bracelets of gold at her wrists. Her arms traced intricate patterns in the air, the gold wristlets sparkling with reflected candlelight. Tiny bells dangled from the bracelets, and as her hands became more animated these tinkled, a faint tintinnabulation that matched the rhythms of the instruments as they played.
So mesmerized was the Prince by the movements that he scarcely noticed as the rest of her body began to sway. The girl's hips began to move back and forth in slow, sensuous circles, a counterpoint to the elaborate motions of her arms. She moved in place, her unshod feet rooted to the spot where she stood before the Prince.
Then the song from the next chamber changed. The measured rhythm set by the stringed instruments quickened, and turned more insistent, more determined; the thumping of a tabla and the jangle of a tambourine insinuated themselves into his consciousness. As the change took hold, the girl's hips swayed more rapidly, and she allowed the swaying to turn her body. Her feet separated and she spun in a tight circle, the movement billowing out the silk that encompassed her. As her body moved in time to the music, the Prince leaned forward in his seat, all pretense of disinterest abandoned.
The girl sensed the change in the man as he watched her, and her lips curved upwards in a langorous, sensual smile. She continued to turn about, swaying her hips faster and harder. Again the music increased in tempo and in volume, and as the dancer matched the new rhythm she moved closer and closer to the Prince until mere inches separated them.
With her nearness, the sumptuous hangings and furnishings of his chamber faded to the background of the Prince's consciousness. The heavy, sweet scent of incense suffusing the room no longer meant anything to him. His eyes were locked to the figure before him, his nostrils filled with the tang of her perfume and her body. His ears were filled with the sound of the raga that echoed through the chamber and through his mind, urgently pounding and throbbing.
Although he reclined before the whirling dancer, every one of his muscles clenched as his body tensed. Her scent and her movements thrilled him, awakening him in ways he had not expected. Suddenly the girl inclined her torso in such a way that the edge of her wrap dangled into his hand. He grasped at it without conscious thought. She spun around him, whirling in a large circle with him at its center. He sat, clutching the end of the swatch as a child would a sweet, and watched with wide eyes as the silk billowed out and unwound. As the girl completed her whirling the Prince found himself bound in a broad, bright silk cocoon that draped around his shoulders. He smiled at the cleverness of her maneuver, but the smile froze on his face as she moved back into his field of vision.
All signs of the demure girl who had knelt before him were gone. In her place was a woman who had emerged from the chrysalis of her silk wrappings, wrappings which now covered him, still warm and fragrant from their nearness to her body. Her thick, dark hair tumbled free from its confinement, and her pale, curved shoulders shone in the candlelight that illuminated the chamber. And her magnificent breasts riveted his eyes, brilliant near-white globes tipped by small hard pink points.
The music soared; the woman writhed and thrashed with abandon, her eyes tightly shut, her body one with the raga. The Prince was overwhelmed, the woman's movements and sudden nakedness enveloping him, enflaming him. All at once he felt himself at the center of an explosive frenzy of climactic sensations, of music and movement and passion. And then the raga ceased, and the sudden cessation of sound and motion hit him with such force that he rocked back against his cushions. The woman sank down onto the carpets before him, spent from the fury of her dance.
The Prince arose and moved toward the woman on her knees. He drank in the sight of her, her exposed bosom heaving as she panted for breath, her slender hands resting on her upper thighs, her buttocks resting against her heels, which were tucked beneath her. She remained still as he approached, her eyes focused down on the floor in front of her. Yet for all of her composure she still seemed tense and uneasy. Perhaps it was her nakedness -- she was clad only in a gauzy veil hanging from a thin strand of pearls around her waist. And perhaps it was more than that, the Prince thought to himself.
The Prince circled around her slowly, and reached out to caress the girl's bare shoulder. The kneeling girl twitched almost imperceptibly, but enough that the gold bell earrings and bracelets she wore jangled softly, as if in warning.
"Are you still afraid then, Little Sparrow?" murmured the Prince. The girl opened her mouth to speak, but nothing issued forth. Behind her, the Prince smiled. He moved his mouth close to her ear and whispered "after a dance of such fire and passion, I could hardly imagine that one such as you feared anything." He moved his body around until he was beside her, and sank down to his haunches. "Or anyone," he breathed, his lips touching the small pink ear, his wiry beard mingling with the dark curls of her hair that cascaded down.
The Prince rested his fingers lightly on the girl's shoulder. With the softest of touches he ran the edges of two fingers across her shoulder to her collarbone, and then up the slope of her neck. He traced the line of her jaw, and continued under her chin to move down her chest. With deliberate slowness he let his fingers trail down to the curve of her left breast, which still gleamed with perspiration from her dance. Down the slope he traveled, pausing only when he reached the nubbin of peaked flesh that lay at the center of a small rough pink circle. Separating his two fingers, now slick from their journey, the Prince caught the girl's nipple between them and squeezed. The nipple hardened and protruded. The girl moaned inaudibly. The Prince smiled again.
"Ummmm."
"Yeah, baby, I love your tits. You got nice tits."
"Um."
"I love squeezin' 'em like this. What tits, man!"
"Um."
"Yeah, you like it rough on them titties. Don't you?"
" "
"That's OK, baby. I know what you like."
The Prince was astounded at how much he was enjoying himself. When he had retired for the evening he had expected nothing more than an ordinary night of bed-mussing. His body had craved physical release; he had not thought to find anything of greater significance. Indeed, when he had first laid eyes on the girl he was disappointed. A mere child, unversed in the ways of the body? What sport would there be in her?
But now, as he sat close to the girl on sumptious carpets, he was more excited than he could remember. True, she was young and inexperienced. But what man would not respond to the vision before his eyes? She was splayed out before him, still on her knees but now resting her weight back on her arms, her torso fully extended. Her eyes were closed tightly and small moans were issuing forth from between slightly parted lips. Moans, he noted thoughtfully, that accompanied his caresses and feather-touches to her breasts, her nipples, her ribs, her belly. If she was truly untouched by any man until now, more was the pity.
As the Prince's hands rubbed down her sides and around to her back, the girl's eyelashes fluttered. With a final sigh she opened her eyes fully and straightened her back until she was sitting upright. She shook her head once, to clear it of the haze of pleasure that had clouded her judgement. She tilted her head, and looked directly at the Prince with mock-disapproval in her eyes.
"The Great Rajah attempts to distract me from my purpose!" she rebuked. "Would the Mighty One have me punished, then? Flogged? Beaten?"
"I will personally remove the head of any who dares to lay hands on my Little Sparrow," the Prince avowed, and even he was surprised by the intensity with which he spoke. The girl's eyes brightened for a moment with strong emotion. Satisfaction? Fear? It seemed to be something more than that. But immediately the look was gone, replaced by a sly smile of anticipation.
The girl's hands rose from where they rested on her thighs and flew to his midsection. Deft fingers found the knot that held his sash tight, and then pulled at it, loosening it. Her soft hands traveled inside the Prince's now-open robe, grazing his chest. Once again, the Prince was amazed. The merest touch sent his nerves atingle, as even this almost incidental contact brought forth a deep response. Why, he had not reacted this way in years, not since his first time with a woman, when he was but a boy.
Truly, this was bliss. The Prince closed his eyes and felt her slide his open robe back over his shoulders and down his arms until it dropped behind him. He kept them shut as the softest hands he had ever felt rubbed his neck and shoulder blades, caressed his upper arms, and smoothed his wiry chest hair. A deep, rich sigh of pleasure escaped him as he felt the delicate touch of the graceful fingers he had watched so closely during the girl's dance. And he remained motionless as her fingers traced the outlines of long-healed battle scars, as if to soothe old wounds he had long since forgotten.
He was indeed soothed, and relaxed as a man could be while remaining awake. So lulled was the Prince that he nearly did feel sleep overcome him. But then the girl moved closer, her arms snaking around his waist to his back, her unfettered breasts jutting forward until they rested against his broad chest, the scent of her hair filling his nostrils as she drew near. She pressed her palms against the Prince's back and puller herself tightly to him, her heated body pressing against his. He took her into his embrace, holding her as close as she held him. She tilted her head upward, and her smooth soft cheek rubbed against his bearded chin. The Prince inclined his head. Their lips met.
They kissed deeply, his tongue running across her parted lips and then between them into her mouth. For all her passion, there was an innocence about her kiss, a sense that this was something new to her. She was like a newly-ripened fruit, bursting with a sweet robust flavor that exploded into the mouth at the very first taste. The Prince devoured her, and after a short while she began to do the same. Their tongues danced with each other like a pair of snakes mating, curling over and under and around each other in passionate twists and twirls. They ran across each other's teeth and lips, seeking and exploring.
After an endlessly long moment the girl pulled her mouth away gently, regretfully, and unlocked her arms from the Prince's back. But her eyes remained locked to his as she pulled back, smoldering with the fevered passion that burnt in his own gaze. She blinked and shook her head, and then swallowed once, hard. The girl licked her already-moist lips and spoke in a husky voice. "My Rajah..."
"My Sparrow..." he answered, without conscious thought.
The girl giggled, a tinkling sound not unlike that of the belled earrings and bracelets she wore. "O sweet and romantic Prince," she said, and a smile flashed across her face.
Her smile vanished, and once more she looked at him with hot intensity. "I beg the Great Rajah to stand upright," she intoned, "so his proud and mighty sword may be revealed."
The Prince scowled at her. "You mock me," he said sourly. "The Little Sparrow enters my room with proper deference and knowing her place. But after a bit of flitting about--" (he waggled his large hands, birdlike, mimicking the movements of the girl's dance) "--I behold not a Sparrow but a sharp-tongued Crow!"
The girl giggled again and fought to stifle a wide grin. She was not altogether successful. "As my Rajah commands, so shall I be. A crow, is it? Then I shall cry "caw! caw!" forevermore at your bidding. But still do I beg of you to arise, Lord Rajaputra. Let me worship at your feet as I so desire to do."
The Prince grumbled and then grunted as he shifted his weight. "As you wish, Lady Sparrow" he said. "As you wish. So the day has come when the mightiest warrior of the Raj must heed the commands of one who would serve..."
The words trailed away as the Prince felt the hands of the girl at his waist once again. With no discernable effort, the girl found and freed the knots that secured his loincloth. The unbound cloth fell to the floor and landed between his feet, and he stood completely unclothed in front of the kneeling girl. With the same softness of touch she had displayed earlier, the girl cupped his testicles in her left hand. She held them carefully, as if they were the rarest and most fragile of birds' eggs. Then she took his still-flaccid penis between the thumb and index finger of her other hand, lifting it slightly. She moved her head forward, licked her lips to moisten them, and then shaped her mouth in a succulent "O." With the barest touch, she kissed the tip of his organ, and then took it into her mouth. She moved her head in small circles as she kissed and moistened the crown of his manhood.
The Prince watched her with wide eyes, his mouth dropping open. "How now?!", he exclaimed. "What is this? You come to me protesting your inexperience in the arts of love, yet you worship my lingam like the High Priestess of Holy Siva!"
The girl pulled her mouth away and looked up at him, an impertinent expression on her face. "From what I have heard of the Great Rajah's lingam, perhaps after tonight I shall ascend to that exalted position."
The Prince snorted. "You must be a novice indeed, to expect from a man the lingam of a god! If you truly expected a mighty lingam of six handspans from me, I am afraid you shall be sadly disappointed, Lady Sparrow."
The girl giggled, and once again cupped his royal jewels in her soft hand. "Hush, now Mighty Prince. For Nimitta is completed and it is now time for the Parshvatoddashta." She waggled her index finger at him in admonishment. "It would not do for you to make me laugh during THAT, as you well know!" Meekly, the Prince nodded and pursed his lips tightly. Again the silvery laugh of the girl rang out, and then she bent back to her task.
"Oh, Jesus, yeah, suck my dick!"
"Marrrrgh."
"Man, what a great little cocksucker--"
" "
"Oh yeah, baby, but harder. Yeah, suck me off..."
" "
"A fucking Hoover upright's what you are, oh yeah..."
The Prince groaned at the pressure of the young girl's lips on his organ. Her technique was masterful; in the darkness of the night-chamber the Rajaputra would have thought her the finest courtesan in all the Raj, not some inexperienced girl-woman. As she teased him lovingly with the Pincers, the Bahiha-Samdansha and Antaha-Samdansha, the Prince wondered if he should reevaluate his estimation of her experience.
Her attentions were exquisite. With baited breath the Prince filled his senses with the girl's tender ministrations. She squeezed the head of his penis between those soft lips, now and again flicking it with her tongue. Then she would let it dip inside her hot, moist mouth and squeeze his shaft with the o-ring of her lips. This was slow torture, the deliberate slowness only adding to the delight he felt.
As he stood, towering over the kneeling girl as she pleasured him, he struggled to focus on the Tantric pattern. What would come next? He could not remember, but the girl knew. He smiled at the fierceness of her tiny, sharp suckings, at the touch of her pursed lips up and down his length. Chumbitaka, he thought, the Kissing. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he admired her thoroughness. I must remember to thank her teacher, he thought to himself, whoever she may be.
Suddenly she took him deep inside her mouth. The Prince gasped in the shock of her passionate movement and increased suction. His arousal, which had been building slowly and pleasantly, leapt as she attacked him with ferocity. So now I am the mango, he thought. Never had he experienced the Amrachushita, the Mango-Sucking, with such intensity before. He could feel the unbearable pressure building in his loins, and knew he would be done for in scant moments.
His blood screaming within him, the Prince gently placed a hand on the girl's bobbing forehead and disengaged himself from her mouth. The girl looked up at him in surprise and, he thought, some irritation.
"What is amiss, O Greah Rajah?" she asked with some asperity. "Has your servant offended you in some way?"
The Prince chuckled. "No," he responded. "I doubt I could find one who could offend me less than you, Little One." He curled one finger under her chin and tilted it upwards so that he could look into her deep, dark eyes. "But I would not have this wonder end so soon," he said in a soft voice. The Prince sank to his knees, matching the girl's posture as he kneeled opposite her. He leaned forward and lightly placed his lips on hers, which were still slick from her worship of his lingam. They kissed deeply for a long moment, savoring each other.
The Prince pulled away, but only a few inches. "I would taste more than just your mouth," he murmured huskily. The girl stared for a moment, and then caught his meaning. Her lips parted and she looked deeply into his eyes, trapped by what she saw within them. Then she blinked to clear the image from her vision, and smiled at him wistfully. She looked at him, her gaze full of tenderness and gratitude, her eyes glistening.
"Oh, Great Rajah," she whispered. "Truly you are the most wondrous of men!" He narrowed his eyes skeptically. He started to speak, but the girl put a finger to his lips to stop him. "Do not think me ungrateful that I refuse," she said. "I hunger for the Quivering Kiss, for the Circling of your Tongue, for the gentle touch of your lips on my Yoni." She breathed in raggedly, and the Prince could see that she spoke the truth. "I live for the moment when the Mighty One bestows such favors on a mere servant. But not tonight," she continued. "I do not wish to be...distracted from the pleasure of my most wondrous Prince on this night."
They held each other's gaze in silence, and then the Prince reached out and lightly ran the backs of two fingers down the girl's cheek. He continued, caressing her neck, the valley between her naked breasts. His fingers traced the curve of her belly, touched at the jewel that adorned her belly button, and stopped at the band of pearls that encircled her waist. Then, slowly and deliberately, he moved aside the veils that covered her nether portions and reached beneath them. As his fingers grazed the damp tuft of her silky hair the girl gasped, and then she moaned as he expertly parted her hidden lips and probed briefly between them. The Prince withdrew his fingers and held them up before his eyes. In the soft, rich candlelight they gleamed, glistening with a thin coating of her. Looking straight into her eyes the Prince brought his slick fingers to his mouth and took a small taste, and smiled. The girl made a small "ah!" and then grasped his hand between her own. She pulled his hand to her and leaned forward to take his damp fingers into her own mouth. She sucked greedily at them, licking her juices off, and then passionately attacked his mouth with her lips and tongue and teeth.
"Now, Mighty Rajah!" she demanded. "Please -- I cannot bear this any longer!"
Neither could the Prince.
"Ooh yeah, baby, that was good. Was it good for you too, baby?"
"Mm."
"Well, now it's time for the main event, baby."
"Umm."
"That's it, open 'em wide, show me that hairy pussy."
" "
"Oh, yeah, baby, I'm gonna fuck you so hard..."
"Ungh--"
"Yeah, you're so tight, I'm gonna make you beg--"
"Ow!"
"Oh shit, yeah, like that, I'm gonna fuck your tight pussy--"
"A-ow-ungh--"
"Oh fuck, fuckin'-- huh--hungh--huh--unnh--yeah..."
" "
They sat on the lush carpets, wrapping themselves around each other. The girl's breasts pressed firmly into the Prince's chest as she pulled herself closer and closer to him. He felt her legs snake around him where he sat, her heels locking behind him at the waist. He struggled to do the same, rueing the passage of the years since his youth.
"I am no longer as supple as a boy," he murmured in complaint. The girl giggled. "You are the mightiest of warriors and of men," she said, her tone impudent, "and surely you are not yet as aged as all that!" The Prince grunted and shifted his buttocks beneath him. After a bit more shuffling and grunting he too managed to encircle her with his legs and touch his feet together at her back. "So here we are, you and I," he said. "Yes," she breathed, pressing up against him. They remained in that position, wrapped around each other and locked together. As they sat their bodies were close, connected, as if the two were one being. Together they remained still, feeling their hearts beat together and their chests rise and fall as one. The points of contact between them were so many that the Prince could not tell where he ended and she began.
For a long moment she clasped herself to him. Then she reached out and grasped him at the wrist; he, in turn, wrapped his long fingers around her slender wrist. With her other hand she reached down between them, and the Prince felt her soft touch as she angled his still-erect organ. She shifted her pelvis with just the barest hint of awkwardness, and then raised her free hand to take his. For an instant the Prince marveled at the many circles they made, their legs holding their bodies together, their linked arms completing their connectedness. For that single moment the entire universe was still with their stillness. There was no movement, there was no sound. There was only the circle, only the two of them that formed it and were bound within it.
Then the girl moved. She leaned her upper body back and thrust her hips with a small, slight movement that was enough to press herself around his erection. The Prince felt the resistance as she took him just inside her opening, and saw the pain in her expression. "Little One--" he protested, but she merely pushed harder, pushing him into her. He flexed his own hips to help, and then she thrust powerfully, impaling herself upon him. Her hands were as tight as chains around his wrists, her legs like strong cords as she began to move within their embrace. Back and forth she rocked against him, her tight sex clenching and burning around him as she moved.
Suddenly he felt a burst of hot wetness from within her, and the dry friction of their joining gave way to smooth slickness. The girl gasped loudly and stopped moving, as if in shock. The Prince let his breath out with a whoosh and grinned with pleasure. With his arms and wrists he pulled carefully at the girl and set her in motion once again, swinging her gently against him. With every sway he could feel his lingam plow deeper into her yoni, and as the moisture within her flowed more copiously she picked up the rhythm of the swinging and began thrusting in earnest.
As her arousal mounted the girl clung to the Prince tighter and tighter, the muscles in her forearms and thighs tensing around him. She brought her face close to his and locked her eyes upon his, refusing to loose his gaze as her pleasure grew. He could see her rising desire in her eyes, and heard it in her ragged breathing and uncontrolled moans. With his limbs he could feel the clenching of her body, the muscles beneath the skin rippling as the force of their coupling coursed through her. This had a tremendous effect on his own feelings of pleasure, and as their swinging and thrusting grew in power and velocity each of them could feel the other getting closer to release.
Still holding him tightly in every way the girl cried out, and then planted her mouth on his. Their mouths opened in their deep kiss, and the girl began to moan and then scream into the Prince's mouth. Wrapped around her as he was the Prince could feel her entire body shudder and convulse as she ascended to her peak. Violently she rammed herself against him, plunging his straining manhood deeper into her than he could imagine. With a cry of his own the Prince felt himself lose any last vestiges of control, and together they erupted as one, their bodies united in ecstasy as they were in flesh.
As the waves of intense pleasure ebbed, the girl's breathing coming in sobs in the aftermath of her climax. She loosened her hold on his arms and rested against his broad chest. As she lay recovering in his embrace, the Prince tenderly smoothed the wildness of her hair and held her close.
"Aahhh," she sighed deeply. "My Rajah..."
"Who the fuck is Roger?!"
"Whuh? Wha?"
"You just said Roger. What the fuck does that mean?"
"I don't know what you mean--"
"Shit! What the fuck, anyway!"
"Look--"
"Hell, you were loving the shit outta me a minute ago!"
"What? What are you--"
"Well, all I can say is that I am fucking great in the rack."
"I never said you--"
"Fuckin' A, the way you were screaming everybody knows it."
"Mmm."
"That's right. I gave it to you better'n any fuckin' Roger."
"Mmm."
"You're OK, baby, even if you don't talk much."
" "
"You -- yaaaawn -- you're one fine piece of ass, all right..."
" "
"Got lucky with me, you bet..."
"Mm-hmm."
"Hunh -- I gave you a great fuck, all right..."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm all the man you need..."
" "
"Zz-zzzzzz..."
END
Thanks to: Nancy Friday; THE GARDEN OF DESIRE, a new book about women's erotic fantasies; "Ravi Shankar In San Francisco," 1967.
i write because
i have to
---- Nikki Giovanni, "Boxes"