I lost my heart to a doctor. It lay unseen at her feet, still faintly beating, its blood seeping into the snow. For she only has eyes for her love.
But that's a story for another day. I'd like to talk to you today about nipples. One pair in particular as it happens. On Borough High Street there’s a rug shop. In the window, for some inexplicable reason, is a painting of a naked woman lying back in a relaxed pose vaguely similar to the mirror image of Venus at her mirror.
She is probably rather attractive in her lovely nakedness. I don't know, though, because her nipples are what attract my gaze. I don't have much nipple experience I should confess. Even so, this pair seem abnormally long and pointy. Horribly so. One of them points upwards to heaven like the Tower of Babel. It's almost enough to make me swear in French! Lord, they even disturb me in my sleep, twisting and drilling into my chest as I lower myself onto her, unable to stop myself.
The painting was in the sale. No surprise there, I thought: who would want such naked absurdity in their home? I felt vindicated when it was moved away from the window to a less distracting position. I would like to make a further quip here but someone has now bought it. They, perhaps, are our hero and are welcome to my nightmares. “Bless them,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye.
But that's a story for another day. I'd like to talk to you today about nipples. One pair in particular as it happens. On Borough High Street there’s a rug shop. In the window, for some inexplicable reason, is a painting of a naked woman lying back in a relaxed pose vaguely similar to the mirror image of Venus at her mirror.
She is probably rather attractive in her lovely nakedness. I don't know, though, because her nipples are what attract my gaze. I don't have much nipple experience I should confess. Even so, this pair seem abnormally long and pointy. Horribly so. One of them points upwards to heaven like the Tower of Babel. It's almost enough to make me swear in French! Lord, they even disturb me in my sleep, twisting and drilling into my chest as I lower myself onto her, unable to stop myself.
The painting was in the sale. No surprise there, I thought: who would want such naked absurdity in their home? I felt vindicated when it was moved away from the window to a less distracting position. I would like to make a further quip here but someone has now bought it. They, perhaps, are our hero and are welcome to my nightmares. “Bless them,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye.
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