A Song of Water and Fire
Between her legs, she was patchouli: earthy and musky smell,
sweet yet smoky, a balance of sweetness and romance—
and for the rest of the night, I tasted her tanginess.
November 27, 2022
Between her legs, she was patchouli: earthy and musky smell,
sweet yet smoky, a balance of sweetness and romance—
and for the rest of the night, I tasted her tanginess.
This night, Pope John XII the Young shagged me rhythmically as if having sex with an African was a mystical ecstasy. When he looked into my eyes, I wondered what it really felt to listen to people’s sins, and no one listened to yours. When he emptied his holy seed in me, he rolled onto his side panting. I almost called his personal doctor, afraid his heart was attacking him.
