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December 19, 2006

From The Comments: Mr. Parx

I split you open, right at the cleft, my thumbs pressing, gently, firmly, lifting and separating. Exposing your sweet, wet, fruitmeat to the cool breeze, and the warm breath from my mouth just inches away. My fingers tickle the flesh around the cleft, brushing the barely visible hairs. I start out at the bottom, licking up the dripping juices. You are perfectly ripe, just the right blend of soft and firm, give and resistance.

I press my lips against your wetness. I must have you. I sink my teeth in. I can resist no more.

Damn, that’s a fine peach!

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