Her name was Marsha, and I was just about to ask her where she was when I caught sight of her in the back bedroom, fingering her cunt.and moaning to a...Z-Z-Top tape. As of yet, she had not seen me, so I assessed the situation, and figured it would be better to go back outside and knock before coming in.Her eyes were closed and I knew there wasn't much of a way for her to hear me between her pre-orgasmic moans and "Sharp Dressed Man." She was blowing her first gasket as I turned and went back out. But there is a new dominant tone. A complex fragrance that blends the stink of matted fur, the smell of burnt patchouli, and the sweet fresh scent of morning Lilacs.This odd combination of fragrances is the first clue to the feral presence that moves in the narrow space between us. Is it Pan himself? Or something else? Something even older, and more elemental than a Greek god? It brushes my hip, cold and formless, and leaves a wet and sticky residue behind.How will it satisfy its lust? The. More

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