Monday 1 April 2013

250 Words: Horny fucker

The snake writhes ceaselessly in the pants, the juice stirs and whips it to action,
aided and abetted by the man's eyes, and sometimes nose. So many sights make
his groin restless, not least his memory (which the horny fucker is always ready to
hump; and is already doing so in his head). Bare arms and legs, beautiful eyes or
hair, cleavage. All triggers to set him flowing.

The mucky mind stays active at all times: whether in frozen foods or the street, on
the bus or train, or, oh lord, the beach in summer. Every woman passed is a woman
to kiss, caress, seduce and enter, leaving her changed. The horny twat likes to think
his eagerness is all that matters.

On the scene standing against the wall, a bottle in hand to help later hold back the
flow and a roving eye lining them up in the order in which to take a crack at taking
them home. A method honed to precision with words, smiles and even moves on
the dancefloor where he shakes his ass like its the key, moves his hands in when
invited, only letting them wander once invited; a brain keen enough to hold back until
the eventual ruck.

And home to do the bad thing or to masturbate furiously, the ladies of that night
either racing through his mind in various positions and states of undress or doing so
under or on top of him. The snake satiated for one more day.

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