It had to bounce. And an ass, it always bounces when you ramones. Each kidney shot, a rebound.
In fact, the aesthetics of rebound still depends on the shape and mass ass honored. Too big an ass and bounce becomes coarse. The fat that is making waves in your flabby belly, like a yogurt that crushes, a show is not very appetizing. In addition, whenever the collision of two bodies takes place under the pressure of sudden kidney, cellulite and showing off springs, shameless.
I almost forgot.
An ass is too small, and the rebound is reduced to its simplest expression, like a broken promise. As for flat bottoms, they are not worth the trouble to mention. It's like going to the grape harvest in the desert - just stupid.
Almost forgot ...
The perfect ass is round. Gays call it a "bubble butt" - a bubble ass. But unlike a guy's ass - and I do not speak the buttocks of the vast majority of men, droopy and sad as an autumn morning in a Soviet republic - in contrast to a blind man, then, rap, ass women is like a pillow, soft and welcoming. It asks our dreams softer, wildest and most perverted.
It's how long?
Brassens said that this is the place where the back is like the moon. Moons, I have visited. Redheads, blacks, blue, gray, solid, the crescent, three-quarters of bright, round, shy behind their clouds. I was the Neil Armstrong of doggy style.
The moon, I dream since I was dreaming. Kid, I saw myself as Pierrot, sharing the night with star Columbine. Yes ... but
It's funny how the feelings fade with the passing days.
When the ass was not adequate rebound, and that the mission proved too intimate, there were, of course, the inevitable fellatio, blowjob, blowjob or BJ for short (pronounced bid-jey). The latter is a true art. Unfortunately few are aware the practice. They you cram it in your mouth and begin to move the head forward and back and forth in a fool. In general, we are grateful when they are kind enough not to put teeth. The function of the lips is reduced to that of membranes which rubs against the penis in the hope of rapid ejaculation. As for the language, it disappears like magic. To ask in what corner of the mouth has been hiding. A real mess.
Seven years ...
A phallus is like a lolly-pop sucking sometimes it takes sometimes Chupp Chups Pierrot Gourmand. Lips should embrace foremost, recognize the field, to proclaim oneself, then sucking, snatch, wrapping, to withdraw, the better to return, overwhelm, leaving the tongue curling, place, and then tease, titillate.
It was not that far yet.
Strange, it looks like for the Anglo-Saxons, sex is work. To describe a particular action, they added the suffix word "job" is a blowjob oral sex, masturbation, a handjob. Followed footjob and other titjob.
I fancied sometimes elongated, and round, like the plant, miniature women going about their task, active little bees. Which of the mouth, hand, toes that which the breasts. Sometimes together, sometimes one after another. Taylorism a pleasure, really.
Another life.
Another life. A previous life. Some imagine a history of Pharaoh or conqueror. I was a "sex addict, obsessed. Almost possessed. You tell me all men are sex addicts. At least the overwhelming majority of them. The remainder Tibetan monks and quantum physicists. But I think it went far beyond the average. If sex addiction was a Freemason, I would have been grand master of the 33th degree. The Kissinger's ass.
But it was not always the case.
I did nothing else. Every hour, every minute, every second. It is often said, not without exaggeration, "he only thinks that." In my case it was totally true. I needed to work. To get out of bed. Even when I dreamed, I dreamed of this. I always say erect would be an understatement. I was the erection, my whole being, with all my soul and my blood. King Priapus.
I was a young dreamer, lover of an illusory Dulcinea.
sex, I needed it like a junkie its dose, its fixed. No sex, no sleep. No rest. It was the natural conclusion of all day and all night. We go out, we drink, we meet, we talk, we drink again, it seduces, it brings home, we always drinks and then fuck.
The problem is boredom, exactly. He had to change. All the time. Always new vents, new breasts, new ass. Try new things, new poses. Heroin senses, I was always looking for new dizziness.
What had happened?
Fortunately, I lived in the open hunting ground, so to speak, and the game never failed: Monot Street, east of Beirut, which flourished bars - meeting places blessed when you look at what I was looking for. Every evening, women and girls were there in numbers looking for a night of oblivion, a casual lover, a boyfriend or even a husband. There were five women for a man in Lebanon, from what I was saying. The pond was so full of fish.
I just had to stoop, or at least leave my house. I stood at the bar, sipping a cold beer thoughtfully among the curls of my cigarette. The rest was routine. A look at first, then words, some smiles, and the die was cast.
What had happened? An unhappy love, revenge, too much pressure on hormones, who knows?
In this previous life, I do not remember that night. As if the days had been erased from my memory. A long night, forever. A night that begins with the discovery of the pleasures, and who gradually becomes trapped in quicksand.
At each penetration, I plunged some more. The faces, names, smells, tastes mingled, leaving an unpleasant impression of cold ratatouille.
Brassens - him again - said that they never will forget the first girl who took her in his arms. Me is the last one I will never forget. It was a hydra, a hybrid of all those who preceded him. She had thousand mouths, a thousand eyes, a thousand vaginas. His legs, his arms embraced me like the many tentacles of an octopus. Every time I looked, she changed her face. His voice followed another, like a radio went crazy.
I needed washing. But how do you wash the inside?
So I stopped.
I wish I could purge it all. Once and for all. Clean - the Karshe reportedly told another. In Bleach, Water Scarlet disinfectant.
I wanted sew my hymen inside.
Unfortunately, there was no purge or enema miracles. He must wait. The days would do it at their own pace.
course I moved. I left the city to settle in a small shack at the side of a mountain. There was me, the trees and the few sheep of the fold of the corner. Fortunately, no shepherdess. Just an old widower shepherd and almost deaf.
At first, the lack was terrible. Desire, burning. Too hot. Then, little by little, the lights calmed down. And the embers have died out.
Peace at last.
One Friday afternoon, I went shopping at Abu Joseph, grocer in the region, a cousin of my neighbor's shepherd, as old as a rock, whose toothless smile breathed the simple joy of being alive.
Winter pointed his nose cold and the weather was clear with a slight haze, dancing and diaphanous.
I walked. She came walking by my side. Not that she wanted to accost me. Quite the contrary. We were just going to the same place, and we walked at the same speed, even a casual. Arriving in Abu
Joseph, our eyes met. Between the shelves of jams, they are searched. Near the body, they found themselves.
We sat on an old bench emaciated, near the old grocery store. No need to search a topic of conversation, our words have naturally encountered.
Her name was Nour, like light.
Since then, every Friday afternoon, we were left to discover all the hidden treasures of the grocery Abu Joseph.
One day we found a goat cheese that came with another cousin of the old grocer. "A miracle of cheese" we he said, "but now I have one."
We decided to share. And with a fresh red wine, sitting in the doorway of my little shack, we celebrated the horns and goatee that which we had offered that perfect moment.
Well fed, we watched in silence, the fog thickened and we cover his veil.
Her perfume, her mouth, her tongue ...
Our bodies are united, our people were mixed, we were more than one. Divine energy, creative, immutable. We were in harmony with the universe.
We were the universe.
is waking up that I understood.
When the day broke. When still half asleep, she opened her eyes slightly before a smile does draw on his lips.
I knew I had found my virginity.
My hymen.
© 2010 Tamyras
