Sometimes, he was a puff fish, opening his mouth to take in food. Thefood was always tubular and always fed him. Sometimes, he felt asthough he was in...his mothers womb, to weak to care, with no hands,only flippers, flailing uselessly.But the dreams shifted, always with a magenta purple background; fromthe monstrous to strange to a Friday in Paris, where he painted hisdreams, of lovely Marie, dressed in the finest of fashion, the gurlsof the De Marge le' venue looking beautiful, but he never. I lie back again, splaying my legs open wider as I slowly withdraw my fingers from myself and begin to rub at my hard little clit once more. My juices are now leaking down my backside, I thrust my hips into the air so that I can feel them pass over my puckered hole. Thinking I saw something move out of the corner of my eye, I pause for a moment before mumbling, "Ah, fuck it." to myself, I'm too hot to stop playing now. I return to grinding my hips against what I wish was your hand and not mine.. More

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