Tangled Jeans In A Pile
by Keiko Mulligan
When she got there she wouldn’t be the same anymore. She would stop humming, sliding and gliding and start hollering and probably riding too.
I could feel her gathering her energy and mixing it with his. I wonder if he knew like I did that she would suddenly turn around and mount him when he least expected it.
I wondered if he would go with it or make her wrestle for it. By that time she would come regardless. It’s hard to stop that kind of train. Forget the Orient express. Think Shinkansen of Pleasure.