He makes Garth Marenghi look like Hemingway.
"Because her thighs stayed crossed, the flat back of his cock rubbed hard against her clitoris, until her clitoris swelled against the rubs, until her clitoris was ripe and round like a ruby grape."
He shifted his bare legs under the sheets, the movement making him aware he had a hard-on. His right hand reached down to his underwear, feeling the clothed vertical bulk.
Waking up in the middle of the night, trying to decide whether or not to make love to himself, like trying to decide whether or not to pee.
Getsi Gooner wore a low-cut blouse to work today. Yesterday. He always looked forward to seeing what she would wear. Eyes closed, he pictured the tops of her breasts, wondered again what her breasts looked like naked. What color the nipples would be. Do you know I’ve had a hundred orgasms thinking about you?
Masturbate? Don’t masturbate?
He tiredly swept the sheet off his body, looking down in the moonlight at the clothed hump between his legs.
Three beautiful, longhaired women rose, attached at their navels to the circular trunk of the eight-legged thing below them.
One blonde, one oriental, one black.
They swayed, six bare arms undulating, as the thing shambled sideways on its multiple legs, moving clumsily to maintain balance under the burden of its top-heavy front weight.
The three women reached their arms out hungrily for the bed, faces imploring, lips writhing without sound, hands tearing at their streaming hair, three sets of breasts gleaming white, brown, black in the brightening dawn.
Daryl crawled backwards against the headboard, babbling, shaking his head as the three silently mouthed their pleas.
The oriental stretched her lithe body out over the sheets towards him, hanging onto the furred black feelers growing out of her side. Her grimy, agonized face strained towards him.
Daryl read her lips.
Below where their navels disappeared into the rough black bristle, three vertical cunts popped moistly open and close.
Another long leg curled bonelessly up in the air, tapping its pad down on the mattress. He felt the weight growing at the foot of the bed.
He grabbed the lamp on his night table and flung it at the legs.
After dinner, while Sally washed their dishes, Daryl excused himself to use the bathroom at the rear of the open space of her apartment.
It looked like a girl’s bathroom.Aquamarine walls, spotless fixtures, neatly hung towels.
Except that the shower curtain, big gold fish in profile, was off its rings, laying across the floor and toilet. The puckered holes at the tops of the curtain were intact. Everything else in here was so squared-off and tidy: why did she have the shower curtain on the floor?
The back of the curtain was still wet. In the far corner of the tub, a rose wash cloth lay squeezed into a nubbly clump. Swallowing, he reached down, touching its damp texture, like touching between her legs.
I shouldn’t do this.
He stood in front of the toilet, holding his cock while he pee’d, looking out the wide, sunny window at the rising stand of lodgepoles beyond the main house. She must have been naked in here earlier tonight, getting ready for him, body reddened from the hot water of the shower, mirror filled with her beautiful eyes and bare breasts, beads of moisture on the cheeks of her ass.
The thumb and index finger of his right hand moved farther away from each other to accommodate the growing swell he held between them.
...it goes on like this. I'm only on page 80 or so at the moment.