wake up, rod

The Rimming Mistakes were made in the making of the moment, when I didn’t ask and you let it happen. As if a tongue in your ass is some big fucking deal, dude, admit, it felt good. I am good at that shit. Still, I could have asked before you came with your hole clenched down against my tongue like a drowning man to a raft made of awesome. Courtesy is elusive when you’re that hard. And you tasted like sweetness and musk and volition.

Hyperpop.2 by BenB * Hyperpop.2 Hellacious sweetmeat, son of a sinner, eye of some ungracious storm. Be my unilateral decision, my deciding electorate vote. Spindle sperm and faith, treble and arterial spray. Bless my wounds in nightshade neon, vending machine supplicant. I need this nearness, this all is intractable evidence ━ these sloppy sounds of sick on sick, wet sick, warbled over ice like disco butter ━ of Geppeto’s cunning strings. But I digress, pressed as I am against this filthy wall covered with pen marks, pleasure votive, the diacritical philosophies of a horny, hapless cellist. Cellophane pressed against my mouth, counting the molecules in the moisture. My lover means to kill me. My lover hasn’t succeeded yet, but love means letting him try. God is not good, god is good at. The distinction is my chapped knees, and grotesque hairdo, huffing bathroom paint and the plastic peony fresh of toilet bowl cleanser cakes. I know, I know, this part is where I am penet...