Chapter 29:
"Why?" she pleads, pluggin' her nose. "Whyyyyyy?"
I let 'er rip, 'cause there's no stopping' it now.
"Imma sorry, Brown Eyes."
But I'm not.
I can't hold it in. Doc said its not good for my prostate.
I let it go, it's melody floatin to the sound of the jazzy music. It could play like a banjo, yessiree.
I wave my hand, letting the smell filter through.
I wanna make a smart remark. It smells better than them dang ol' cats.
Like a bed of roses. She ought to be grateful.
Straining, I assist her up on the bed, and we is lying down.
Her skin rolls are beautiful. Dem biscuits done her good.
I like a well fed Georgia Peach.
I kiss her again, running my hand down her body. Appreciatin' every popped out vein, every wrinkle of her ass.
She touches the hairy mole on my shoulder. Surpises me by lickin' it.
She's a nasty one, she is.
And I'm lovin it.
I pull her on top, so she is straddling me.
"Oof," I complain. She's heavier than she looks.
I changes my mind. Maybe she outta cut back on them biscuits. Less butter, I wanna suggest.
But that would be rude to the pretty lady, and my Momma ain't raise no fool.
Keeping my thoughts to myself, I fondle her breastesses with one hand.
Her hairy cooter with the other.
She's whimperin' and moanin. Kissing me on my jaw. Likin' my fuzz. Trailin my back with her jagged nails.
I squeeze that juicy behind of hers, as I'm still working my fingers in her spot.
Imma talk in her ear. Somethin' real sexy. I know she's gonna come.
So I lick the edge of her ear.
Moan at the taste of last year's wax.
And I whisper softly.
"Your ass is fatter than a couple o' squirrels fightin' over an acorn in a gunny sack."
And when she blows, it just about dills my pickle.
